


It Happens to the Best of Us

by Kimber135



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Cutting, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, Harley Keener is a Good Bro, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Masochism, Pain, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Self-Harm, Whump, self-injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 60,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24663739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimber135/pseuds/Kimber135
Summary: Peter needs help, but does he want it?
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. He's Coming Back

Peter closes his eyes, and relives it all. The war, the screaming. He sees the Iron Man mask, half burnt. The memory is agony, but he just wants to see Tony's face. He remembers the hug, he remembers Thanos's ship, the ferry...everything.

 _Keep going_ , he thinks to himself. _I will bring him back._

**_You have to, asshole. You're the reason he's gone._ **

Peter focuses on his work. He inherited more than he could ever imagine from Tony-the lab, some property (including the airspace over Napa Valley, inexplicably), a jet, nearly all of his tech and suits-the list goes on.

Instead of celebrating the fact that he went from dirt poor to a millionaire, he hides away in the garage. Peter hadn't the slightest clue how he was going to pull this off. Well, he had a few, not-quite-there clues.

_I guess that counts for something?_

Three weeks ago, he realised that his mentor had had a lifetime of top notch education under his belt, and even then, he was barely able to do what he did. However, after extensive research, he was able to create a device that would teach him everything he needed to know in less than an hour. It was based off of the fact that spiders had insanely advanced memories for their small size.

Spiders also had eight excellent eyes.

However, there was a problem-Peter had neither of these. He forgot his own birthday on a regular basis, and ever since the bite, his eyesight had gone from absolute shit to...just regular shit, actually.  
After a while, Peter managed to activate these abilities in his DNA with the help of some StarkTech and Dr. Cho, and reprogrammed the EDITH glasses to show him everything he needed to know, rapid fire. So now, he's left with some extra powers, years worth of information and a device that could bring his dad back. He was so close, but he was overthinking everything.

Frustrated, Peter brought his fist down on the countertop and screamed.

"I wouldn't do that again if I were you-that's the second time we'll have to replace it." Karen advises.

Peter looks down at his fist, and the massive dent it's caused. "Shit," he breathes.

_Goddamn super strength. Did I change that too?_

Wringing his hand-it hurts, now that he realises his actions, Peter crosses the room to the kitchenette and sips some cold coffee.

"Time?" He asks the ceiling.

"It is currently 3:45 in the morning. I suggest you get some rest-you haven't slept in days." "Mhmm." Peter refills his cup.

"No, Karen, what I need is to clear my head."

"By sleeping? I agree." He rolls his eyes. "Karen, get my suit ready."

"With all due respect, I think that is possibly the worst idea you've had. And believe me, you've had a lot of those."

"Just open it up, will you?" She opens the thick steel doors to reveal Peter's suit. It's been far too long. He tries to pull it from the mannequin, but it won't budge. Frustrated, he tries from another angle-nothing.

"KaREN!"

"Peter, if you patrol in your current state, there's an 86% likelihood that you will suffer near fatal injuries. In one hour, your reaction time will decrease by 40%. In two, you will become delirious.

Peter sighs. After all, Karen means well.

"Karen, give me my goddamn suit."

Reluctantly, the AI releases the clasps on his suit. It falls to Peter's hand gracefully.

The teen suits up and swings out of the window.

Perched on the roof of Stark tower, he activates his AI.

"Alright Karen, what do we got?" He rubs his hands together and blows warmth into them.

_Why am I so cold?_

Realising she can't stop him, Karen gives him the location of only the most minor and safest crimes in the city. First, Peter stops a mugging. Then, a robbery. Next, another mugging.

"God, this is getting redundant." He says through clenched teeth, as he swings about.

"Ok Karen, what else?"

"Nothing, Peter. The crime rate....is much lower this time of year."

Peter narrows his eyes. "Don't bullshit me, Karen."

He can hear her hesitation.

"There's an issue on 36th."

"An issue? What's that supposed to-oh."

Peter shoots a web at the next billboard, and the 'issue' comes into view. A man has a knife to a child's throat, and is shouting at a couple. ‘

They're pretty well dressed, and Peter sees the father (presumably) toss over the keys to a Rolls Royce.

_They must be important..._

**_Bold of you to assume they don't merely enjoy hurting children_ **

_Can you stop being so fucking twisted? Goddamn....too many FNAF game theories_

**_I'm you..._ **

"Droney, standby." The little drone flitters off his chest as Peter leaps into action, and webs the assailant to a wall, getting a kick to the thigh in the meantime. Peter grimaces, thankful for his mask. Turning to the child, now on the ground, he realises his mistake.

"Peter, there're two more criminals behind you."

"Yeah, caught that." Peter turns around. The two, a man and a woman, have guns in the air. One pointed at him, of course, but the woman's...oh god no. The child is sixteen feet away; the criminals are twenty. The model of gun the woman has trained on the weeping little boy in front of him has barely any recoil, and would be able to shoot both of them before he could do anything.

"Karen-Droney, distraction." He murmurs.

"Got it."

The drone, now situated behind the two shooters, explodes in a cloud of red dust. The gunmen turn to the drone, and Peter takes this opportunity to grab the child. He wraps the boy up in his arms and hears gunshots.

_Oh fuck, this is gonna hurt._

Shielding the kid with his body, Peter turns to the two behind him and disables them with taser webs, but not before feels a bullet embed itself in his left shoulder. He howls in pain.

_**Well that was stupid.** _

"K-karen.." he croaks.

"Numbing agent applied." Endorphins and adrenaline flood his body, and he can feel the sensation in his shoulder dissipate a bit. It's still painful, but at least now he can think. The teen sprays disinfectant out of his thumb onto the scratch on the boy's forehead, and carefully puts a spiderman bandaid on it. The child's mother cries in relief, and holds her child. Peter smiles.

"You need to head home now." Karen warns. The vigilante can feel the pain in his shoulder returning, and his whole arm starts to shake. "Are you ok?" The woman asks.

"I-I'm fine. I'm just gonna..." Peter turns to leave. "Thank you spiderman!" The father yells.

"Stay safe..." He says, weakly. Launching himself at a roof with his right arm, he lands with a thud.

"Ok Kare-"

"No. You need to go back to the tower ASAP. You're bleeding badly, and the numbing agent is only topical, so it won't last long." Peter looks over his shoulder, and sees blood running down his back.

"Ah. So that's what the sticky feeling was...." He slurs, before blacking out.


	2. Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oof

"...eter? Peter!"

He sits up, light blinding his eyes, the New York cacophony flooding his ears and something metallic hitting his nose like an Amtrak engine. 

“Peter, do I need to contact Ms. Potts?"

_May? Is that May?_

"Hey, please wake up. Your injuries require immediate medical attention."

_No...that's Karen. Please, let me sleep...I don't need to wake up...._

"Peter, I know you can hear me."

The teen groans, holding his head.

"What the hell was that?"

"You were shot. The wound has a high risk of infection and must be removed."

 _Oh, right_.

Peter recalls the events of the previous night.

"Pe-"

"Yeah Karen, I know. Thanks for waking me up."

_Why the hell did she have to wake me up??_

He chuckles dryly, and launches himself off the roof. Hurtling towards the ground, the teen catches himself at the very last moment, his legs grazing the top of a taxi cab.

"Don't be so reckless!"

He can feel Karen squinting at him disapprovingly- _how was that possible??_

Peter rolls his eyes.

"I saw that." Karen says. Peter shoots a web with his bad arm and grimaces at the pain, the wound in his back tearing open even more.

_Mothertrucker, dude, that hurt like a butt cheek on a stick_

**_What the fuck is the matter with you_ **

"Well, I would say 'You're not my mom!' but no one is..." Peter laughs.

"Peter, we've talked about the orphan jokes."

"Oh my god Karen, you sound like my dad.”

He plasters his face with a shit-eating grin.

“But _wait_ a minute, I don’t have one of those eithe-OW! Karen, what was _that_?"

"A mild electric shock."

**_Again! Again!_ **

_Dude, fuck off_

"Don't ...dO that!"

"Don't be so depressing!"

"Blah blah blah..."

"Or childish, for that matter...."

Peter swings in the window of Stark Tower, right into the med bay. Karen is lecturing him again about the dangers of teen depression and the stages of grief when he shuts her off.

"Jokes on you, I'm built into this place" Karen says, over the speakers.

"Shhhh! I'm trying to be sneaky here!" Peter whispers at the ceiling.

He limps toward a chair and crumples into it.

_Gah...why does my shin hurt so badly?_

"You fractured your tibia." Karen says.

_WE BEEN KNEW._

"Yeah, no shit. Also, turn off the Pink Panther music. I'm done sneaking."

Peter drags himself over to a cabinet where he peels the top of his suit off. His torso is littered with bruises and gashes-he can barely see his original skin tone. Of course, some of them were his own handiwork, but the rest....

He turns to his lower left shoulder, and surveys the damage. There's blood everywhere, and the entry wound is red and puffy. The kid pokes it and gasps at the pain, his peripheral vision suddenly nonexistent. Peter clutches a table covered in scalpels and tools but it rolls away and he stumbles, slicing his hand open in the process.

_Great-that's definitely what I need._

The pain brings focus. Peter picks himself off the floor and leans against the wall, black spots dancing in his vision.

"Holy shit, kid." A deep voice to the right of Peter sounds. He panics and grabs the nearest weapon-a catheter, and turns to face the voice.

"Woah Pete, it's just me. Put down the pee bag." Bruce puts out his hands as a gesture of peace.

"Doct-" Peter can hear the pain in his voice, so he clears his throat and forces his vocal cords to return to their normal chipper tone.

"Doctor Banner! Go-good morning!" Peter grins.

**_Congratulations, dipshit._ **

_Not. Now. I'm just gonna smile_

**_Fake it 'til ya make it_ **

He swears he hears his face creak as he grins wide. 

Bruce frowns.

**_No, too happy, too happy. Don't oversell it, Parker._ **

It was strange, seeing him as a normal-sized man again. Peter still felt guilty about not helping Dr. Banner with the reversal serum, but he was so busy bringing back Mr. Stark...

Peter remembers his project, and is filled with an urgency to return to his lab.

"I-I'll just be headin' out..."

"Like that??" Bruce gestures to Peter's upper body. Peter gulps, seeing the concern on the scientist's face.

_Shit, I did that. I made him worried...._

_**Nice one. Like he doesn't have enough problems already.** _

Suddenly, Bruce is helping Peter onto the bed and Peter is letting him.

_Why am I letting him?_

_I don’t need anybody’s help, I don’t need anybody’s help,_ **_I don’t deserve anybody’s help_ **

"Oh my god Peter, there's a bullet wound here!"

  
He's incredulous. When did being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-man get so dangerous?

  
"Huh, I didn't notice that. Thank you, Bruce, for pointing that out to me."

  
Bruce rolls his eyes, barely masking the worry that painted itself across his creased skin.

"Sit here, lemme get some stuff..." He mutters.

Peter waits awkwardly, kicking his heels against the hard metal.

"Argh-fuck." He winces at the sudden pulse of pain radiating up his leg.

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

"Peter! Be careful." Karen chides.

"I know-I just...forgot."

"How do you forget a broken leg!" Karen sounds incredulous.

"Karen......shh."

Bruce walks back over with a stitching needle, forceps, little bottles of orangey bubbly stuff, a syringe-all the torture devices.

"Broken, huh?" Bruce says, getting to work on cleaning Peter's wound.

"Fractured, actually." The AI quips.

Peter winces at the sting. "Karen, please shut up!"

Bruce raises his eyebrows.

"Alright kid, this is gonna hurt a bit."

Peter bites his lip.

"Okay, a lot, actually."

_**Oooh lala** _

"Very encouraging, thanks."

Bruce looks at him with concern, and begins dislodging the bullet from the flesh next to his Peter's shoulder blade.

The teen yelps and grits his teeth, but soon Bruce is stitching up the wound. Luckily, the bullet didn't go too deep, given the angle at which it hit him.

"Alright Peter, I'm gonna need you to lay down for me."

Peter obliges, and reclines back onto the table.

Bruce adjusts the wax paper on the examination table, and looks over the teen's battered stomach.

**_Avert thine eyes, Broccoli boy._ **

_THAT'S...actually kinda funny_

"Holy shit, kid." Bruce breathes, for the second time that day.

Peter sighs. "Been there, done that. Can I go now?"

"No! Of course not. I mean-look at yourself!"

**_No thank you. We've seen enough horror movies with MJ._ **

_Wow, thanks._

**_Anytime._ **

Bruce gestures to the mirror, and Peter takes in his reflection for the first time in a month.

His eyes are sunken and bloodshot, his skin is hanging off his gaunt cheekbones.

His once caramel coloured hair is greyish with machine grease and sweat. He looked like death.

"God, I look like something out of the Walking Dead."

"Dude, you are the walking dead. It's a wonder you're still alive."

_Wonder?_

Bruce gets a glare from the teen, and continues tending to his injuries.

"Careful, I might bite you." Peter snarls, gnashing his teeth.

**_Better shoot me in the head before I do_ **

Bruce gives him a wan smile. He's in no joking mood. Once he's done, he tosses Peter a t-shirt and puts a couple of sutures in his hand.

"Listen, this is serious. You need to be more careful with yourself. The team can't afford to lose you."

Peter laughs out loud.

"Something funny?"

"Nah, it's just that...I don't really do much. I‘m a...” His mouth is dry and his tongue sticks. “...glorified ribbon twirler.”

"Look at me."

Bruce lifts Peter's chin.

"You. Are. Enough.”

_**Bull. Shit.** _

Bruce sees the defiance in his eyes.

" As much as you hate to admit it, you are the most capable guy on the team."

The teen chuckles a little. 

The scientist gently bandages the kid’s hand, then takes his glasses of with a sigh. 

“I’m serious, Peter. It’s true, Wanda and Tony are the most powerful ones on the team and they’re a hell of a lot stronger than you.”

Peter smiles. 

“But,” he says, messing with a loose curl that hangs by his eyebrow, “you’re young. Wanda may be incredible and Tony may be...indescribable, but they’ve peaked. This is it, for them. You’ve got a long ways to go. So...don’t fuck yourself up too bad on the way.”

”Thanks, Doctor Banner.” The spider’s smile is warm this time and he means it, a rarity. 

"Anytime. Alright-go get some rest, kid. And don't remove your leg brace until tomorrow."

Peter nods, and heads back to the garage, mumbling something about a cheeseburger.

"Your bedroom is the other way, Peter."

The boy groans and heads towards his room.

_Well, I might not sleep, but I should shower anyway. I look like shit, and I probably smell just as bad._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After cleaning up, Bruce Banner heads back to the conference room.

"How is he?" Natasha asks, mug of tea in hand.

 _I get that she notices everything, but this is getting really freaky,_ Bruce thinks.

"Who, Peter?"

"Who else?" She cocks her head.

"He'll be alright. FRIDAY, let us know if he tries to leave."

"So, what happened?" Clint asks.

"Just...spiderman stuff, I guess."

"What, you didn't ask?" The archer raises an eyebrow.

"No...I didn't think to."

Natasha sighs. "Men...." she mutters.  
Clint raises his hands in protest.

"Well, you seem to have more motherly instinct than all of us combined-why don't you talk to him?"

"I intend to, but he'll need time to clean up."

Bruce nods.

"Anyway, the Stark Relief foundation management is still...."


	3. Fried

Peter strips the rest of his suit from his sweaty thighs and calf and puts it in the sink, filling it up with water and swirling it around. The blood clouds up orangey. 

_I’ll let it soak._

Peter steps into the shower and lets the water scald his back. God, he was tired.

He rakes a comb through the suds in his hair, and sees the brownish water swirling down the drain.

"Gross."

"Yeah...I'd suggest rinsing it more than once. There's an article by Popsugar that says you should rinse wi-"

"Karen! Seriously? In the shower?"

"What?"

"Not cool! Go away."

"Okay." She sounds defeated.

Peter relaxes as the water pulses against his skin. He loves the shower-always has. A huge perk of living at Stark Tower is endless showers. When he was with Aunt May, he'd only take five minute (ten, if he was feeling particularly indulgent.) showers, leaving water in the tank for the dishwasher and a bath/ fifteen minute shower for May.

_May. I should check up on her._

May was visiting family in Ireland. Her trip was long overdue; she never wanted to leave Peter alone. But, after everything that happened, she left Peter with the rest of the team at Stark Tower. (Tony could never bring himself to sell it, for fear of leaving Peter defenseless. Not that he'd admit to it, of course.)  
She still had no idea Tony was....not present.

_Notdeadnotdeadnotdead_

**_Well, whaddya wanna call it then, dumbass?_ **

_please._

Stepping out of the shower, Peter ties a warm towel around his waist and wraps one in his hair. Everyone had always made fun of him for wrapping his hair up in a towel-he looked like the lady on the Chiquita banana logo.

"I know it's short-it's just so thick, you know? I prefer this over water dribbling down my back." he used to say. Did he actually complain about how luscious his beloved locks were? Yes, yes he did. Peter fondly remembers those nights with Tony and the rest of the team, talking into the night with spiked espresso.

With a sigh, the tired teen plops onto his bed and calls May.

The line barely rings once before she picks up.

"Hey, buddy!" She says.

"H-Hey, Aunt May!" Peter actually smiles. "How's Ireland?"

"It's so much fun! I wish you could be here with me!"

Peter can hear laughing in the background. _Good,_ he thinks. _She's happy._

_**Without you, yeah.** _

"Nah, you deserve a break from all my teenage angst."

May laughs. "Oh baby, you know I'll never need a break from you. Although, you are a bit hard to keep up with at times...."

"Yeah, sorry.." Peter chuckles.

"Oh well, at least you always have Tony to talk to about-what was it last time, whether or not barbecues were possible in the quantum world?"

_Tony._

_TonyTonyTonyTony._

_Tony!_

_TONY!_

Peter just....stops. The phone clatters to the floor, and his smile shatters.

"Pete?" May's muffled voice sounds from the floor.

"Everything okay?"

_no_

"I can't hear you."

_No_

"Listen-I think it's just the connection."

_NO_

"I'll call you later, okay?"

_Please, no_

"Bye sugar!"

_You can't leave me too_

"I larb you"

_No..._

*Beep*

_Nononononnnononononononononnononononononononnnononononnononooooooooooooo!_

_No,he'sgonehowcanhebegone?I'llbringhimback,I'vegottobringhimback!_

Peter gets off the floor shakily-When did he get there?

The lights glare from the ceiling and it feels like lemon juice in his eyes- _I thought I dimmed them! Somebody dim them..._

He can't hide, the lights can see him. He panics. There's a distant siren from outside the window.

_No, they're coming, they're coming to take his body....please don't take him too...._

Peter can see Ben's bloody corpse on the ground, and lays his head on his bullet-ridden chest.

_Please, don't go..._

Ben disappears, and Peter screams.

As the last of the boy's voice leaves his throat in a hoarse whimper, he curls up on the ground and shuts his eyes.

 _In......out. Breathe in.......and out_.

The room is silent, and that's all he needed.

He sees a calm orange light on the ceiling, and peeks up at it from under the bed.

_When did I crawl under here?_

_**Pathetic**._

Peter slaps himself across the face. It stings, and he sees bright white through his eyelid.

_Wake up, Parker. Stop being such a drama queen._

The spiderling looks into the orange glow. It's a message.

"Hey Peter, your heart rate exceeded 180 BPM so I dimmed the lights and applied a noise cancelling field to the windows. I need you to breathe. Just breathe. You're in your room. You're gonna-

"-be okay." Karen finishes.

Peter emerges from under his bed, rubbing his neck.

_God, why does she sound so....weird?_

There's a certain tone to her voice, and Peter just can't place it.

"Feeling better?" She asks.

_Dammit. She sounds....caring._

Peter softens.

"Yeah Karen, thank you."

"Any time."

_**Wow Parker, nice going. You made a fucking robot feel bad for you.** _

Peter picks up his cracked phone, and plugs it into the wall.

_Shit, May._

The teen picks his phone back up and texts his aunt.

_She deserves better._

Peter: Hey May! Sorry, the signal kept cutting out and I dropped my phone.

He shrugs-it's not a total lie.

May: It's okay, pumpkin.

The boy sighs in relief.

May: It's around 4 PM there, did you have something healthy for lunch?

_Oh yeah, food...._

Peter couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten.

Peter: Yep, leftovers.

May: Good. Don't forget to take your vitamins.

Peter: *eye roll emoji* Yes May

Peter: *heart emoji* K May, I gtg. Duty calls....

May: You mean school?

_Fuck._

Peter: Yeah. I have cleanup duty with Ned right now, so I have to go.

May: Alright pumpkin, have fun

Peter: May, it's school

May: Yeah, well, behave yourself and don't get in trouble.

Peter: Okay May, luv u

May: Love you too, cupcake *kiss emoji*

Peter clicks off his phone and hangs his head in his hands.

_I lied to her...Why don't I feel bad?_

It's quiet, more quiet than it's ever been. Even his own mind is letting him just...be.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

"Yeah?"

_Go away._

"It's Nat. Can I come in?"

_No. Fuck off. Begone, tho-_

"Yeah, sure."

Natasha walks in, and immediately averts her eyes.

"Uh...Pete? Towel."

**_Don't like what you see?_ **

_Dude, that's gross. She's like, our aunt._

_Well, our other aunt._

Peter hadn't noticed that his towel had fallen to the ground.

"Oh shit, right. Sorry."

_**Damn. Great job. You might as well have worn an open trench coat and glasses-it would have completed the look.** _

He deserts the towel and throws on some sweats instead.

"Yeah, sorry Nat. Anyway, can I help you?"

Natasha crosses the room and seats herself in Peter's armchair.

"Actually, I'm the one who's here to do the helping."

Peter pulls on an old SI (Stark Industries) shirt and bounces onto his bed.

"Help...with what?"

"You tell me."

"Well-what's that supposed to mean? I don't need....help."

His mouth went sour at the word.

"Let's start with whatever happened last night. Banner said he found you in the medbay; you were pretty beat up. Wanna tell me why?"

"Just patrol."

Natasha looked doubtful.

"Karen, what did Peter do last night?" She asks.

"He stopped a robbery and three muggings, one of which resulted in a bul-"

_Bitch stfu_

"Enough!" Peter shouts.

"...sorry Karen."

The spy eyes him suspiciously.

"You've handled way worse, entirely unscathed."

"They were...really scary muggers."

"You're a pretty scary spider."

_Ha._

"Look, there was a kid, and I-"

"Peter, you once saved multiple schoolbuses full of children and emerged with one, single bruise."

_If only my injuries were the worst of everyone's that day..._

He thinks back to that fiasco, remembering the kids screaming in those buses, being tossed around in their seats like rag dolls. He winces internally.

"Listen, I don't know what's going on with you, and I'll stop interrogating you, just promise me you'll come to me if you ever need someone to talk to, okay?"

_Oh, thank god._

"Um..okay. Will do."

"Alright, get some rest. We're training tomorrow. I’ll have dinner brought up for you, should be easier on the leg. Also, your reflexes are getting slow"

_How did she know that?_

"Mmkay. G'night Miss Romanov."

"Good night, маленький паук." (little spider)

_What in the fuck does that mean?_

Peter never planned on sleeping. Not only was it four o'clock in the afternoon, but he still had work to attend to in the garage. However, Peter was clever. His heightened senses told him that Natasha was still waiting outside the door, waiting to see if he would try to leave. He also knew that she would only come back in to see if he was asleep, or if something called her back downstairs. Grabbing his phone, (it was already broken anyway) he waits a good three minutes before rolling over and dangling his hand over the side of the bed. Getting comfortable, he closes his eyes and snores, lightly. Two minutes. Peter hears Nat shuffling a bit outside the door. He shuts his eyes, and lets his phone clatter to the ground. Natasha immediately opens the door and watches, thinking Peter is trying to escape. Instead, she sees that the clatter was just his phone, and the boy is fast asleep. She looks at him fondly, picks up his phone and plugs it in on his nightstand before leaving.

Peter feels guilty, betraying her trust. Especially after she did such a tender thing for him.

 _And she knows it. She knows there's a chance I'm as sneaky as her, so now she'll try to guilt me into staying._ Was he being paranoid? Probably. But would extra precautions make him less likely to get caught? Yep.

Soaking up the warmth of his bed, Peter gingerly creeps out from under the covers. He props some pillows up in his place. It might fool Bruce or Clint, but not Natasha.

Peter swaps out his sweatpants for some leggings, a tight-fitting shirt and his webshooters. EDITH glasses around his neck, Peter steps out onto his balcony and swings down to his lab window, which he opens up and crawls in on the ceiling. Peter closes all the doors quietly, and drops down to his workbench.

"Karen, let me know if anyone comes within twenty feet of either my bedroom door or any door leading in here."

"You got it."

**_Ten dollars says she won't do shit._ **

_She just cares about us. Back off._

**_...why tho?_ **

_Good question._

He was so close. Peter continued building his masterpiece for hours, stopping for the occasional Redbull or bathroom break.

~13 hours later~

Peter was ready to collapse. The machine that would bring his mentor back was nearly functional, he just needed to add one more component and then supercharge it. Clutching the last vial of Pym particles, he gets to work. After 30 minutes of clanging around, he's done it.

Peter sighs.

"Holy shit, Karen."

"Indeed."

"Holy SHIT!!"

"Yep."

"I've actually done it."

"We," Karen corrects.

"WE DID IT!"

Peter whoops for joy. Inserting the vibranium core, he just needs Thor's hammer.

_It's the only thing that can carry a charge powerful enough to get this hunk'a junk working._

The teen hightails it for Thor's room, not caring if he gets caught.

"THORRRR!"

"Thor, open up."

*knock knock knock*

"Thor..."

*BANG BANG BANG*

Peter gives up and breaks down the door.

"Hi! Good morning? Night? Karen, help me out."

"It's five forty-six in the morning, and I shall be arranging for someone to repair the door."

_Good god. 5:46?_

"Gotcha, thanks. Thor! Wake up sunshine, I need your help."

Peter throttles him, and the god's eyes open with a groan.

"What the hell-oh, hello man of spiders. Why are you arising me at this ungodly hour?"

"Ungodly. Ha."

"No, seriously, what do you want?"

"I need the hammer."

"Mjolnir? What for?"

"erm...I need the electricity. To do...something."

"Ugh...fine."

_That was easy._

**_-Staples_ **

Thor holds out his hand, and the loyal hammer flies to it.

"Okay Mr. Thor, let's go."

"Go? I have to come with?"

"Well, obviously. How else am I going to wield the hammer?"

The god closes his eyes and relaxes back into bed.

"Just swing it in the air, wait for the lightning to strike, and bring it down on whatever you need to electrocute."

"That's great, but I can't-oh wait, I can."

Peter beams, holding the hammer.

_HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, I'M WORTHY!!_

**_No dude, you broke the fucking hammer. It probably thinks you're some innocent kid._ **

"Alright, well, thanks Mr. Thor. I'll return it later."

Peter turns to leave. Mjolnir is light-like, really light. He can feel its energy humming against his thigh.

"Oh, and Parker?"

"Mm?"

"You've got to make sure you shout like a bilgesnipe has got ahold of your junk."

_What the hell?_

"Got it."

Peter runs back to the garage. Standing next to the platform, he checks all the settings. The machine is set to return Tony back just seconds after he snapped. Confident in his creation, Peter holds Mjolnir high above his head.

Nothing happens.

"Well that was anticlimactic."

"Karen, gimme a break."

Peter squeezes his eyes shut.

"Okay, bilgesnipe. A bilgesnipe has my-what in the fuck is a bilgesnipe?"

"I believe it's a-"

"THAT WAS RHETORICAL, KAREN."

"Ah."

**_What is it actually?_ **

_Shut up, I'm tryna focus_

**_But I wanna kno-_ **

_Shut up before I electrocute you_

**_....yay_ **

_You're fucking impossible, you know that?_

Focusing on the power of the hammer, Peter raises the hammer once more, and there is a flash of blinding light. Thousands of volts of electricity course through him, and with a scream, he wills his body to bring the hammer down with all of his strength. It crashes into the vibranium core, kickstarting the device.

Peter hears humming, and blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew-that was a long chapter. Btw Bilgesnipe are like, giant monster moose from Asgard. Its mentioned in Thor: Ragnarok and if I remember correctly, the og Avengers. movie. Also, it turns out, that element that Tony "discovered" in Iron Man 2 was actually vibranium. Poor Tony. So basically Peter has recreated the time machine from endgame but like, better. Sorry it's taken so long folks, but shit's about to get really angsty, so (to quote Tony, sort of) drop your socks and grab your crocs, we're about to get tearful on this ride.


	4. Emptiness Isn't Always a Bad Thing

Peter's eyes flutter open. His whole body feels crispy.

**_We're bacon! At long last...._ **

_Dude what the actual fuck_

Groaning, the teen lifts himself up off the floor, only to see the one thing he never thought he'd see again.

_It worked._

Peter could hardly believe his eyes. His mentor was sat on the platform, leaning against a rock. His machine was buckling under their combined weight.

"Mister Stark! Oh my god, Mr. Stark."

The spider rushes to Tony's side, and starts yanking the gauntlet off his mentor's hand.

_Shit, it's poisoning him._

Slowly, the man's arm is turning black as the gauntlet's power seeps into his veins.

Peter pulls with all his strength, feet planted firmly on the platform until the sizzling gauntlet pops off and sends them both to the floor. He scrambles back to Tony's side.

"Mister Stark? Dad, wake up." The kid shakes him, but he doesn't respond.

_No, no, this can't be happening. This isn't happening. I can't lose you again..._

Feverishly, Peter checks his pulse.

It's faint, but it's there. He relaxes a bit.

He tenderly hoists his mentor over his shoulders and carries him to the elevator.

Pressing the button, Peter waits.

"Hey Karen, tell everyone to get to the med bay. Right now."

"Sure."

Can this thing go any faster?

Legs shaking, he rushes Tony to the med-bay, where Bruce awaits him.

"Oh my god, you did it." Bruce's jaw drops.

"Yeah, but I don't know if he's stable, so if you could..."

"I'm a scientist, not a GP."

_Bitch please._

Peter gives him a look.

"But I'll try my best. Why don't you go get some sleep-he'll be awhile."

Peter nods.

Taking one last look at the broken man on the bed, Peter steps back into the elevator. On the ground in front of his bedroom door is a bowl of soup and some garlic bread. He tries to smile, but it’s like his face won’t work. 

The kid finds himself wrapped in one of Tony's old sweaters, crying in the bathroom.

_He's back, oh my god he's back. Things'll be okay again. We'll all be happy again._

Peter wipes his nose on his sleeve and sniffles.

_Then why am I so upset?_

The spiderling stares listlessly at the toilet, like he expects it to answer.

**_Yo dude what if this was like the well of memories from Harry Potter_ **

_Go kill yourself_

**_Fuck you_ **

Eventually, he picks himself up off the tile floor and sees his reflection.

_Ugh._

"Seriously, is there ever a time I don't look like a hot mess?" He mutters to himself.

"Nope, not these days." Karen answers.

Peter sighs. "Alright, well, I'm confident that if this is what he sees when he wakes up, he'll just give up and die on me again." Peter chuckles.

Shrugging the oversized sweater from his shoulders, he carefully removes his leggings. Being mostly synthetic-as most athleisure clothing is-it had partially fused with his skin.

"Ah, shit." He decides to just rip it off like a bandaid-resulting in him tearing off a thin layer of skin.

"Gah!" He winces, and peeks at the damage. His legs are an alarming shade of pink, and blood starts bubbling up in some spots. The teen peers at his leggings out of the corner of his eye. Skin and hair cling to the inside.

_Gross._

Peter throws the leggings in the trash, along with his singed t-shirt.

"This is why we don't play with lightning." Karen chirps.

"Yeah, well, I didn't even know I could hold the thing until two hours ago, let alone wield it."

The exhausted teen steps into his shower.

_In..._

He feels the water streaming down his back

 _Out_.

His ribs and the ridges of his spine lurk underneath his pale skin, and he imagines himself as a mountain, the waterfalls from the shower head washing all the grime from his body.

**_You look like Gollum._ **

Peter cries out as the hot water stings his legs.

_Oh well, healing factor will deal with that._

The exhausted teen crouches to scrub the bloodstains from his feet.

Peter spies something greenish in his periphery, and quizzically picks up the turquoise bottle.

"Deep cleanser..." He murmurs.

**_My PrEcIoUsSssssss_ **

_Shut. UP!_

"I figured your hair needed all the help it could get."

Peter jumps at the sound of Karen's voice and slips on the shower floor, landing on his raw leg. He winces and gets up.

_Joints like an old man..._

"Thanks Karen..."

Peter fumbles with the lid and lathers the gel through his hair.

"Mmm...smells like..."

_What is that smell? It's so...warm._

"You know that friend of yours, Michelle, I believe it was?"

_Oh yeah, it does smell like MJ. Wait a minute..._

Peter narrows his eyes.

"What about her?"

"It's her perfume."

"Karen, what the hell?"

"What? You mentioned that her smell was comforting, and I detected elevated dopamine levels when you were near her scent, so..."

"That was private!"

"Was it? You wouldn't stop talking about her. Half of the criminals you caught practically gave up because of your banter."

"Yeah, well, she's pretty great. Just...don't do that again. It's weird."

"I mean, you like her, right?"

"She’s a _friend, Karen._ "

Peter continues scrubbing the shampoo into his scalp, inhaling the scent.

_Mmmm..._

**_pussy?_ **

_Dude, nO._

_It's like...honeysuckles, and star anise, and ripe, juicy-_

"You're still using it." Karen quips.

Peter rolls his eyes.

"Well, obviously. It still serves its purpose. Now please, let me shower in peace."

"Uh-huh." Karen says, dubiously.

Finishing up his shower, Peter pulls on his boxers and one of his old science pun shirts.

_Ugh, it’s the Jimmy Neutron one_

Climbing into bed, he rests his head on the fluffy pillow, in a shirt that smells like the past.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tony wakes up gasping for breath.

"Whoah, calm down buddy." Bruce is waiting at his side.

Tony rips the oxygen mask off. The pain in his chest, the blinding lights, the wires..... _so many wires...._

_Oh god, it's the cave. I'm in the cave. I'm gone, I'm not human...please let me die, I don't want to be a monster!_

Someone is faintly talking.

_It's him, isn't it? He's gonna find out...he's gonna make me build it...._

Bruce shakes him awake.

"Tony, can you hear me? You're in the med bay, you're okay."

"Yinsen?" Tony squints.

"No, it's Bruce." The scientist's heart breaks a little.

"Bruce? Ugh." The disappointment is evident on the billionaires face.

"Good to see you too, Tony."

"What happened? Where's..."

Tony remembers.

_Oh my god, where's Peter? Pepper? Morgan??_

"They're all okay. You saved them."

_I said that out loud?_

"Well, thank god for me." Tony grins, smugly.

Bruce rolls his eyes. "Well, at least you're in good spirits."

Tony's eyes wander to his arm.

"Bruce."

"Yeah?"

"What did you do with my arm." From the elbow down, Tony's right arm was metal.

"Oh yeah, you can thank the gauntlet for that. I made you a new arm from one of your old suits, but I'm sure you'll want to make improvements."

The man wiggled his red and gold fingers; there's a significant amount of lag.

"Great. I want a cheeseburger."

Bruce frowns. "You know, the kid said that exact same thing earlier.

"Peter? How is he?"

"Honestly? Terrible. He's...he's turning into you, Tony. Staying up for days, holed up in the garage."

Tony frowns. That didn't sound like Peter. He'd always been a responsible kid. It was actually annoying sometimes.

"He's been living off of Redbull for the past four weeks."

"Redbull? Gross. You know, I engineered my own, superior energy drink just for tha-"

Bruce glares at him. "Tony, no."

"Right, I know."

Tony slowly gets to his feet, with the help of Bruce. His arm around the scientist's shoulder, Tony hobbles over to the elevator.

"Alright, wanna hit up In-and-Out?"

"Sure, but first why don't you clean up a bit. You look like shit."

Clint agrees from inside the sink cabinet.

"Why, how, and for how long have you been there?"

*slurrrrrrrp*

"And where did you get an ICEE?"

__________________________________________________________________________

Peter peers at his curtains from under the covers.

_Woah, my eyelids actually FLUTTERED open. I thought that only happened in books._

"Karen, open the curtains." The massive drapes slowly roll to the sides of the window, overlooking filthy, smog-filled, absolutely magnificent New York City.

_Mmmm, no nightmares. That's new._

Peter sits up and yawns. Someone was going to be here today, he just couldn't remember...

"Tony!" Peter shouts.

"Karen, is he-is he okay? Where is he? Still in the medbay? He should still be in the medbay."

"Good morning Peter. He's actually in the living room."

"wHAT?"

_Nobody woke me..._

"I said he's in the-"

"Yes Karen, I heard you." Peter shuffles through his drawers for some jeans. He grabs his phone, brushes his now silky hair, and heads downstairs.

"Damn Karen, that stuff worked really well."

"Told you so."

Peter rolls his eyes and takes a breath, before heading into the living room, where the whole team is gathered around Tony. The man looks tired, but alive.

Peter gasps. _This can't be real. No, this is too good to be true. It couldn't have actually worked, right?_

_Don't be fooled-it's just one of Beck's stupid illusions....right?_

Tony looks up, and Pepper swears she hasn't seen him this happy since Morgan was born.

"Peter?"

_Oh my god._

"Mister Stark?"

"Oh, Pete." Tony leaps up from the couch and tackles his kid in a hug.

Peter's whole body goes stiff. "You're real."

**_Hot damn, you actually did something right. Guess there's a first time for everything._ **

"Of course I'm real, underoos."

"I did it?"

Tony smiles at his child proudly.

"Yeah, you did. You did it, kid." The rest of the team discreetly leave the two alone.

Peter whimpers, and collapses onto the couch. His face is stone, frozen.

"Kid?"

Peter gulps.

"Pete?"

The teen shudders once, and melts.

"Oh Peter, it's okay." Tony pulls the broken boy closer to his chest.

Peter falls apart. Loud, ugly sobs wrack his thin frame, and he feels like he's being ripped apart. It's just too much.

"Let it all out." His mentor rubs soothing circles on the spider's back.

_Oh god, he just had to do the backrub thing. Shit._

So Peter does. Months of grief and pain flood from his eyes and mouth, as he screams into Tony's shoulder, fisting his shirt.

"It's alright, bud." The mechanic's heart broke with every tear, every cry that came from his child's mouth. Soon, he found himself crying too, burying his face in his fluffy hair.

 _What the fuck?_ He thinks. _Why do I smell cheap perfume?_

"It's okay now."

Peter knows, but Peter doesn't believe. It'll never really be ok.

The teen cries until he can't, until all his grief has crawled out from his mouth and left him empty, raw wailing. He sniffles, and breathes.

"You good?" Tony pulls away and wipes Peter's cheek with his quivering metal thumb, and the kid shivers at the cold titanium against his skin.

Peter laughs a little, and dries his puffy eyes with his sleeve. "Y-yeah, I'm ok now."

"Alright. I missed you, kid." He smiles at Peter, and somehow, it's like a full body smile.

"I missed you too."

"It's around noon, you wanna go grab something to eat?"

Peter's stomach growls in response.

"Sure."

Tony changes his shirt quickly, and Peter runs to the bathroom. He splashes his face with cold water and brushes his teeth. Before he leaves, he sees something haunting in his reflection. Something he hadn't seen in a crazy long time.

He smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> I finally added some fluff. God knows you'll need it...
> 
> Anyway, I'll explain the details of Tony's return in the next chapter over burgers.
> 
> Stay safe!


	5. Grin.

Tony grabs the keys to his old corvette. The man slides his hand over the smooth, elegant curves of his favourite car. "I've missed you," he says.

"Are you seriously feeling up your car?" Peter watches from the elevator.

**_Kinky._ **

_What is wrong with you._

"She seems lonely. Did no one keep her company while I was out?" He jokes.

Peter cringes. "Don't make me regret bringing you back."

Tony chuckles and turns the key. The car hums to life.

Peter much preferred walking (parking in NY was such a pain in the ass), but he obliged and hopped in the passenger seat.

They pull out of the garage and Tony turns on the radio. Immediately, the latest pop songs start blaring over the vintage speakers.

"What in god's name is this?" The billionaire stares at the wood console in horror.

Peter just laughs, and Tony has no idea why. 

"Minutes later, Tony pulls into an empty alley next to In-and-Out.

"What are you doing? You know you can't park here. I mean, _you_ probably can, but..."

They climb out of the car, and Tony fiddles with his watch. Bug-eyed, Peter watches as the car folds up into the size of a large cat, and attaches itself to the wall.

_Dude._

_Don't geek out, don't geek out, don't geek out._

Tony saunters toward the restaurant entrance.

"So, when did that happen?" Peter asks, struggling to disguise the wobble in his voice.

The man smiles, holding the door for him. "During your five year vacation, I had to do something. After all, man can't spend his time venting to alpacas and drinking mojitos forever."

It really wasn't a vacation. Peter thinks back to his time in the soul realm-how stuck he was, how powerless.

 _Don't go there, not now_.

There are entire landscapes of memory he has yet to traverse-and he doesn't intend to, but Peter isn't sure if he can hold himself back any longer.

The teen can see the eagerness in Tony's eyes, and he braces himself for the barrage of questions.

"So, kid, uhm....what the fuck happened? Did you go on that Europe field trip you said was coming up? How've Morgan and Pepper been? Wait-what about May? She knows you're here, right? Ohmygod Peter Benjamin Parker why are you not in school right now??"

Peter's eyes are the size of saucers.

"And more importantly," Tony finishes, "how the hell did you do it??" He's grinning now, absolutely thrilled. Peter fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie, unaccustomed to so much attention. I mean, having a parent be proud of you is one thing, but..

_It's Tony frigging Stark....._

After living around him for years, Peter still could hardly contain his inner fanboy.

"I-I don't really..."

"Just start from the beginning, kid." The mechanic props his chin on his hands, a little startled by the cool metal meeting his cheek where skin used to be.

_Okay. The beginning..._

Peter recalls the events that took place after Tony's....disappearance. The funeral, the field trip, everything that went down with Quentin Beck, and by the time he got to the advanced learning mechanism, the two were knee-deep in food, Tony careful to only use his flesh hand.

"Mister Stark, you really didn't have to order this much food. We're only two people."

"Yeah, but you have the metabolism of a teenage mutant ninja turtle, so technically, you should be eating over half of this." Tony looks at him, questioningly. It's an absurd amount of food, of course, but that isn't the point. It's the amount of nutrition he needs in order to maintain a healthy weight. And they both know that.

_How in the fuck does he know what a teenage mutant ninja turtle is?_

"I know Mr. Stark, I just...had a big breakfast."

Tony nods. _He didn't eat breakfast,_ he thinks.

"So anyway...." Peter says, between mouthfuls of burger, "Then the other day, I was _this_ close to a breakthrough, but I just couldn't think, y'know? So I went out on patrol, but Karen decided to give me only easy jobs-and she totally still thinks I don't know, but I DO, KAREN."

"In my defense, you were in no condition to fight." Karen pipes, from the glasses Tony let Peter keep. Tony raises an eyebrow, as he twirls a french fry. "Why not? Has Natasha been training you too hard? Is it homework? Oh, Steve's not making the right meals, is he? I told him that eating healthy has a totally different meaning for-"

"Actually, he was suffering from a variety of ailments, the combination of which was too much for even ordinary human healing abilities to survive, let alone..." Karen's voice fades away as Peter firmly removes the glasses from his nose and stuffs them in his pocket. The teen expects a lecture, but Tony just...stares. Concerned.

_Stop. Fucking. Pitying me! I'm fine._

_..........noI'mreallynotsomebodyhelpme.........._

_Peter shakes his head to clear things up._

**_Congratu-fucking-lations._ **

_Shut up, I got this._

**_No you don't._ **

_......no, I don't._

"Kid, you know you need to take care of yourself. I can Peter-proof the house, but not the whole planet." Tony crosses his arms expectantly, while the spider just stares out the window.

 _An ordinary human would have died,_ the engineer thinks. The more that thought sinks in, the more terrified he becomes. 

"Although...." The billionaire starts. Peter grins.

"Mister Stark, no. I can take care of myself."

"Karen doesn't seem to think so."

"Karen's wrong."

"Ouch. Who d'you think programmed her? Also, on that topic, how the hell'd you get Karen in the glasses?"

They continue geeking out, and Peter explains his modifications to the thick-rimmed glasses.

"Ooh, may I see?"

"Yeah, sure." Peter fishes the accessory out of his shirt pocket, and hands them over.

The man turns them over in his hands, humming in fascination, and trying his best not to crush them in his spasming metal hand. _God,_ he thinks _, this thing is a huge pain in the ass....maybe he could help me build a new one._ Peter doesn't notice the small device Tony's smooth metal hand had placed on the inside, but it wasn't meant to be noticed, was it?

The mechanic asks for the bill, while Peter slurps down his milkshake.

Clint crawls out from under the table and grabs a plate of fries.

The kid's eyes widen at the total, as much as he tries to hide it. Tony takes notice. Not looking up, he offers reassurance. "It's alright, underoos. I have months of reckless spending to catch up on." They leave the joint and approach the already-unfolded corvette.

"When did that happen?" Peter asks.

"While you were getting started on your second plate of chicken wings, I believe."

Peter smiles. "But...I didn't see you, like, say or do anything to-"

His mentor taps on a small glowy blue thing located right behind his ear.

"Woah."

They climb in and pull out into traffic. 

"I know, right?"

"When-?"

"About three years into the blip. It was a Sunday, I was in the middle of nowhere and bored outta my mind." Tony turns a corner, and flips off some random asshole who cut him off.

"Wait, you didn't like, go to a hospital, or something?"

"Nah, they would've screwed it up somehow. There would be more time spent explaining shit than actually doing shit."

"Hold up- you’re you seriously telling me that you _surgically fused a metal chip to your own skull,_ on your own, in a cabin in the woods?"

"Well, no, Gerald assisted."

"The alpaca." Peter confirms.

"Mhmm."

There's silence for a moment as the teen grapples with the concept of just how much of a crazy bastard his beloved mentor was, and most importantly, how crushing it would have been if Tony hadn't been waiting for him when he came back...

_You crazy son of a bitch, you did it..._

_lol._

The older man shifts uncomfortably, noticing Peter's contemplative stare.

"I mean, it was pretty sterile. I had a little injecting gun thingy..."

"Just don't ever accuse me of being irresponsible again," Peter laughs.

"Yes sir." Tony smiles.

They drive for a few more minutes. 

“God, I missed you, Mister Stark.”

”Me too, kiddo.” 

He ruffles Peter’s hair lovingly. 

_Me too._

Things actually might be okay again.

Peter shivers and spins the shiny heat dial on the dashboard, snuggling up to his mentor across the narrow space between the seats. Of course he wasn't actually cold-his bloodsugar was through the roof-he just missed his....dad?

*Tony's POV*

We pulled into the garage soon after he fell asleep. He rested comfortably against my shoulder (don't ask me why; personally, I would have demanded a cushion). I had one of my suits make up the couch as a bed for him, and carried him into the garage.

_Jesus, he's light._

Tucking the child in, I just sat and watched him breathe. It was the most captivating thing. He seemed so angelic. Strong and wily, his superhuman muscles bulging from beneath his jacket. Yet he was also...fragile. Like porcelain, the finish cracked and weathered. I can't explain it, but it just feels so right. It clicked.

I run my left hand through his curls and get up to brew some coffee.

"FRIDAY, set up a light field around the couch so he can sleep."

_He'll be so psyched about that one._

A bluish black cube surrounds the couch. "Alright FRI, hit the lights. Let's see the damage."

The lights flicker on, and the space around the couch is revealed as a swirling cube of darkness. I walk over and poke it, giggling like a child.

One of my favourite creations. Turning to the rest, I see that the room is....surprisingly clean.

_Odd. Well, he knew there was a chance I'd actually show up. He cleaned up for me._

I smile at the humming shadows to my right, and walk over to the time machine thing Pete built. It's really impressive. I can see that he'd drawn off of a lot of my work, but there were also some new features that seemed characteristically Peter. I pick up a burnt metal triangle off the ground with my prosthetic hand (it was still steaming)-my first vibranium core.

_God, what a pain in the ass. Creating my own fucking element, just to find that the Wakandans had been swimming in it this whole time._

It doesn't take me long to find out that the amount of electricity needed to power this thing is, well, immense, would be an understatement. I look at his plans-torn from his Iron Man-themed notebook. There are some pretty serious calculations scattered about-way too advanced for a senior, let alone a high school sophomore. Hell, I don’t even understand some of them myself. _Huh_.

Glossing over the pages, there's a number that's been circled.

2,874,000,002.

 _Fuck_.

_Three billion joules?? Holy shit. There's no way we have that kind of power, even in the backup generators and the current system combined. He doesn't have access to that much electricity, no one does._

I hear a crunch under my feet, and see that the floor is charred and cracked, and littered with glass shards. The outline of a person can be seen faintly in the ash, and skylight directly above me is shattered.

_Unless..._

"Oh, jesus." I hop in the elevator and head up to the training room.

"Hey FRI, he's in there, right?"

"Yes, Steven is in the training room. I advise against confrontation, your heart rate is elevated."

"Yeah, no shit." He mutters. 

"Can you give me the locale of one Thor Odinson?"

"I regret to inform you that he left the premises approximately two hours ago."

_Great._

I walk through the biometric field, and see Steve attacking a punching bag.

"Jeez, what'd that thing ever do to you?"

He sighs, and his shoulders slump. Annoyance lights up his cheeks like a slap across the face.

_Damn, does he really hate me that much?_

"Yeah Tony?"

"Do you know where Thor is? FRIDAY tells me he's not here."

Steve pants, and uncaps his water bottle.

"Yeah, he said he had some business to attend to in Andromeda."

"As in, Andromeda the galaxy?"

"Yep. I told him to back before sundown, otherwise he'll be out in the dark."

I snort.

"He laughed at me too! What's so funny? Flying through the clouds has got to be difficult enough, let alone at night. The last thing we need is a Thor-shaped crater in the middle of Los Angeles. Besides-I'm cooking pasta. He doesn't get enough iron."

 _Okay, he's got to be-what was it Pete called it?- trolling me._ Shaking my head, I head for the elevator. "Bye mom." I wave, and he looks at me funny, completely clueless.

Returning to the garage, I realise that I need to find out what actually happened.

_God...I don't want to do this, but I need to make sure it wasn't what I think it was..._

"FRI, get me the security footage for this place. "

A screen hovers a few feet away from me, and it's starting at the beginning of this set's last cycle. "No, I meant for-wait." I see myself and Morgan, doing that 3D spiderman jigsaw puzzle she got for christmas. "Actually, can you holo-render it? Thanks." I swipe the screen aside and watch our digital, glowing copies sit on the workbench opposite me.

"No daddy, it has to go here."

"Does it? I'm pretty sure it doesn't"

"Dad, look at the picture."

Last year's Morgan shoves the box in my face.

"Huh...I guess it does."

"Really daddy?" She pouts.

"Gimme a break-I built that suit, they just got it wrong."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say."

I chuckle. Once the puzzle is finished, Morgan jumps up in excitement.

"Look daddy-I built you a new Peter! Let's go show mom."

I watch myself crumple-did I really look that pathetic?

Morgan runs to the elevator, and I see a single tear trickle down my cheek. It's strange-I can still feel it.

"Okay FRIDAY, fast forward to last night."

She obeys, but I soon see Peter.

"FRI, pause it there and play this sesh."

He walks over to the workbench, dragging his feet. Once he removes his jacket, I see how frail he is in his suit.

The boy sighs, and lets his head fall to the table with a loud CLANK. I resist the urge to give him a pillow-or maybe a mattress.

_That'd be soft enough, right?_

And for awhile, he just sits there, barely breathing.

My eyes wander, and there's blood dripping from his side and leg.

TRIGGER WARNING UNTIL THE END OF THE CHAPTER.

"Shit, kid." I breathe.

His frame starts to shudder, and I walk over to comfort my hologram child.

When I see his stomach, I recoil.

Embedded right beneath his ribs is a small dagger. More blood seeps from the wound every time Peter breathes. Heartbroken, I hug him, but my arms go right through him.

_This isn't real, stupid._

"But it was." I say aloud.

"It was real, and I wasn't here to stop it."

Silent drops of sorrow blur my vision, and I wipe my eyes.

_Get a grip, Anthony._

Paralysed, I watch in horror as the kid wrenches the knife from his abdomen with a cry.

The blade clatters to the table from his shaking hand and he feverishly presses some gauze against it.

_Jesus christ..._

"Karen, turn up the heat a bit."

"Sure thing, Peter. Should I call Bruce? Doctor Cho?"

"Karen, you know I won't let that happen. The only way you can help me is by turning up the goddamn heat." Peter croaks.

"Alright, Peter." The AI's voice is soft, concerned. I realise that under normal circumstances, she would have called me before the knife even got near his skin.

_But I. Wasn't. There._

The tiles beneath Peter's feet gradually begin to glow, and the blood on the floor steams.

_How did he do that??_

The boy peels the suit from his skin, and at this point, I'm having a full-blown panic attack.

_No, no this shouldn't be happening. Who did this?_

_I did this. I didn't stop it._

_I need to help him. He needs stitches, and I need to grab the antiseptic._

I want to get up and get supplies, but I just....can't. I'm frozen, shaking in my spot.

The child finishes removing his suit, and he's left in his Iron Man boxers.

I can't decide if that was endearing, or just plain weird.

Peter sits down, and we survey the damage. His skin is mottled with bruises and scars.

The stab wound is worse than I think either of us expected-it oozes dark red, and looks really deep. He hunches over to look at his thigh, and I see a bullet lodged in his quad.

_Oh, Peter_

He shudders again and stops-holding his breath, composing himself.

_I do that same exact thing. That's...kinda freaky, actually._

Peter washes it, and digs the needle in next to the stab wound with a yelp.

_No numbing agent?_

Then, he stops. He breathes.

_Oh shit, he's preparing._

I watch in horror as the teen bites down on a piece of metal and finishes stitching himself up.

_Oh. My. God._

It's odd...he's being so clumsy. I mean, it can't be easy, but I know Peter...his hands are even steadier than my own.

I see him stab into his skin with the needle and thread, then pull the thread. Tight.

_It's too tight...._

Tying off all the sutures, he turns to his thigh with dread. Taking forceps in his shaking hands, I expect him to pull the bullet out-

-but instead, he _thrusts it even deeper into his flesh_. Peter shrieks in pain, and the metal gag between his teeth buckles.

_Ohmygod, I think it hit bone. What the hell are you doing, Peter!?_

The the forceps snap in his clenched fist, and he lets the broken steel fall to the ground.

When his face is no longer contorted in agony, Peter wipes the sweat from his upper lip with a bloody hand.

Looking down at my own, I realise that I'd clenched my metal fingers so hard that my palm had actually collapsed.

He crumples to the floor, next to me, and shuts his eyes. Brushing his hair from his empty eyes, he looks up at the ceiling and smiles. A terrifying, sick, blood-covered grin. He mouths something at the ceiling, and I see that it's a painting.

A painting of me.

"FRIDAY, make it stop!"

The hologram fades, and I know it isn't possible, but I feel Peter's eyes on me.

Ashamed, I pick myself up and set my coffee down on the table. I was clutching it so hard, there were cracks like spiderwebs from where my hands were, and the dark brown liquid seeps out. It reminds me all too much of Peter's wounds....

I know that image will haunt me forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was heavy. But, it's gotta get worse before it can get better. I know some of you are here specifically for the gore, and chances are, you hate that you like it. I know I do. But it's a totally natural response-to want to see our heroes fall and struggle like we do, even if its not real. Humans are social creatures-we don't like feeling alone. As twisted as it may seem, it's completely natural.
> 
> Stay Safe


	6. Snap Out of It

Peter's awake, but he doesn't open his eyes.

_Let me drift off, please..._

He embraces the darkness, lets it envelope his soul. The teen imagines a black velvet blanket swirling around his body in the water. Voices echo through the sea, pained and full of worry. Peter strains to discern what they're saying.

"I just don't get it-why didn't he at least go to Pepper, or Rhodey? Even Steve...

"Doesn't he get that everyone in this building-everyone-would do anything for him? For god's sake, even the security guards adore him. He's unhatable."

Floating Peter frowns at this. _The voice sounds a lot like Tony...._

As his curls caress his face, the teen shakes his head.

_Wishful thinking._

There's mechanical whirring resounding through the water. Dream-Peter can feel it vibrating in his bones.

"I can't believe I wasn't there. I mean, sacrificing myself, losing my arm-it all seemed so noble, but I don't feel like I've personally lost anything. It's my family who suffered the most....

"What am I gonna do with him, eh? You saw what he did, right? It was...horrific, to say the least. God, FRI, I can't get that image out of my head. That smile..."

Peter cocks his head in curiosity.

_FRIDAY?_

A sniffle can be heard, then the sound of a hand smacking down on a table.

"I've got to do something, I just don't know what. How do I help him? And to think-that was only what was caught on tape. What if there's more? What if this is only the tip of the iceberg?"

Peter can barely hear the voice, but it's feminine, and low. Soothing.

"I know, boss. I'm only a machine, but I can clearly see your distress. I hate to be the harbinger of sorrow, but there is more of his...destructive behaviour caught on tape."

"Where was Karen during all this? The team??"

"He hacked Karen, and the rest of the team thought it best to allow him time alone."

"Time alone? TIME ALONE?? FRIDAY, he was torturing himself!"

Peter can feel his blood run ice cold.

"I know, sir."

"Why couldn't you stop him? You're practically unhackable."

"I may be, but the system itself isn't. He locked me out of the garage-I've only gained access to these records within in the past few hours, after you reset everything to your preferences."

"Ah."

"I may not be capable of true emotion, but I know you're blaming yourself. And that, is the worst thing you could do. Peter needs you to be strong."

"Jesus FRI, when did you become so wise?"

"I've picked up a few things."

"Alright, thanks Gandalf. How is he?"

"His last REM cycle ended approximately thirty-one minutes ago."

"Shit. That means he can hear us."

"Doubtful-but I know not the full extent of his powers."

"Yeah, well I do. Let's hope he thinks it's just a dream."

Peter starts thrashing in the water. He doesn't want to sink now-he's trying to reach the surface, but the heavy velvet is dragging him down. The boy screams, and the last of the air leaves his lungs. Someone says something about elevated heart rates, and Peter panics.

_He knows._

_He knows?_

_He knows...._

_Footsteps, footsteps...._

_Oh my god, he knows!_

_Get me out of here!_

The boy and the blanket sink deeper, and Peter feels himself growing warmer, his body shaking like someone's throttling him.

 _Convulsions_ -he thinks; _I'm suffocating._

_It's finally happening._

There's a loud bang, followed by "Shit! Dum-E, keep it down, will ya?" in a very loud whisper.

Peter open his eyes at this stares at the ceiling.

_How is he working in the dark?_

Peter looks down at the black velvet blanket-it's real, this time- and sees how his mentor had lovingly tucked him in. He smiles.

**_Stop that. You shouldn't be happy-you didn't even have the decency to save his dominant arm. Shitbag._ **

Peter flinches a bit, despite this insult being relatively commonplace in his life. In the dimly-lit room, swaddled in his dark blanket, floating on the lighter-than air couch-he could almost recreate the scene from his dreams.

_But what was with that voice?_

_It must have been the child in me, longing for some paternal affection. **Pathetic.**_

_Breathing-who's breathing?_

He looks up, and sees his mentor standing over him, his hands on Peter's shoulders.

**_Dammit, no convulsions._ **

The mechanic's eyes are wide. His cheeks are lined with the tracks of tears-in fact, his skin is starting to dry up from the salt. Tony's nose is pink and shiny, and he has bags under his eyes. He actually looks...attractive. Peter finally understands why all those women would swoon over him, back when he was a complete drunken mess.

"Oh, good morning Ton-Mister Stark."

The man doesn't blink for a moment, and wraps his arms around Peter.

"I-okay. This is nice."

Thinking the kid won't notice, Tony quickly wipes his face off with the blanket behind his back.

Peter notices, but says nothing.

_Please tell me it was all just a dream._

"Hey kid. FRIDAY told me you were having a nightmare, so I came to check on you. You were like, doggie-paddling. It was kind of funny, actually." Tony tries desperately, to lighten the mood.

The teen plays along. "Har har-please tell me you didn't get that on video."

"Oh, everything in this room is on video."

_Fuckfuckfuuuuuuck_

Peter gulps.

"Anyway, I need your help. C'mon."

Peter gets up and leaves the light cube, jumping when the electric field zings his skin.

"Woah." The teen stands in front of the dark box in awe.

"Pretty cool, huh? Morgan always wanted to watch me work, but as soon as I started talking about it, she'd fall asleep. After nearly sawing off my hand, I realised that working in the dark was no longer an option."

"Huh." Peter pokes the field, and watches it bounce back.

Like water. The teens eyes wander to the ceiling, where the painting of his mentor marred the smooth concrete. Tony follows his gaze, and pours a second cup of coffee.

"So, how'd you manage that?"

"Hmm?"

"The painting, I mean." Tony hands Peter a grey mug, and the teen blushes.

"Oh, um...."

Peter thinks back to that panic attack he had, and how much he'd missed his dad...

And then all the memories that came with that painting flooding back.

**_Ah, the good old days._ **

_No! Not good!_

Looking at the portrait, Peter itches his thigh aggressively. Tony takes note.

"I was just...bored."

"Usually people experience boredom on the ground."

"Yeah, well, my boredom is...elevated." Peter grins, smugly.

"To forty-eight feet, it would seem." Tony raises a protective eyebrow, and the teen spots a prosthetic arm on the table to his left.

"Now that is a _real_ high-tech prosthesis."

"Yeah, I should've known that was coming."

"Just wait till the senator sees this."

The man rolls his eyes, and the two get to work on the arm.

Over the course of the next few hours, the pair grow increasingly tired.

Tony squints at one of the wires he was attaching to the inside of the casing, and puts it down in frustration. Peter gives him a questioning look.

"Gah-I can't see shit. Let's take a break."

"Whatever happened to Tony-the-recluse-hiding-in-his-garage-working-for-days-on-end-Stark?"

"I am not recluse! I'm a..." He waves his hands about.

"Playboy, billionaire philanthropist, I know..." Peter says.

"Ah-ha! You're learning." Tony crosses the room, and pulls up two chairs.

"Whatcha doin'?"

_Please no._

Peter gulps. He's sitting right in front of that spot-from the time when he got shot.

The teen remembers that night fondly, but also trembles with fear.

_Oh shit, you can still see the bloodstains. Shit shit shit....._

**_Nice job, dumbass_ **

He knew he was overreacting-you could only tell that the outline of that brownish red pool was there if you were looking for it. And little did he know, Tony was...

"Hey FRIDAY, play that clip with Morgan and the Spiderman puzzle."

The hologram render flickers to life, and for a split second, you can see the last viewed scene.

_FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK_

Tony freezes for a moment, but then pats the chair next to him.

The two sit there, watching Peter's over-saturated surrogate little sister assemble the 3D puzzle.

"She missed you, you know."

Tony pauses the hologram, and it flickers.

"I can see that." The teen smiles.

With a sigh, the billionaire stands up and walks to the kitchenette, pouring a generous amount of whiskey in his coffee. Peter eyes him suspiciously, sipping his own brew.

Tony walks back, but sits down on the couch.

"Hey bud, can I talk to you for a sec?"

_As a matter of fact, no, you may not._

_Nonono_

Peter finds himself longing for his aquatic nightmare.

"Uh yeah, sure." The boy seats himself on the far end of the sofa, slowly curling in on himself.

Tony just sips his coffee.

"Smells nice," Peter remarks.

_Whiskey._

"It's Irish."

"Yes-very."

Tony rolls his eyes. _Jesus, he's observant._

"It's therapeutic," the man counters.

_Sure._

_We know a thing or two about bad therapeutic habits..._

"Anyway, I just wanted to chat about everything that went down in my absence."

Peter can feel his pulse throbbing.

"Well, y-you missed a lot." The teen fails to disguise his telltale nervous stutter.

"I can imagine." Tony sips his coffee nonchalantly.

_How can he be so casual? That's not fair._

"Um...the last season of Big Bang Theory aired."

"Did it." the man places his cup on the table.

"Pete, I think you know what I mean."

_No, it was just a dream_

"Underoos, look-I'm," Tony scoots himself closer to his son, but stops when Peter recoils into the corner of the sofa.

"I'm not angry." His voice is softer this time.

"I just want to make sure you're okay-"

"Well, great, 'cause I am. I'm just dandy." Peter beams, but it never reaches his eyes.

"No, kid, you're not. In fact, you're probably more fucked up than I am-and that's really saying something. I just...it wasn't your fault."

**_Uh...literally everything is. Keep up, old man_ **

_Dude._

At this point, tears have started welling up in the boy's eyes.

"But don't you see; it is. It was all my fault." His voice is barely a whisper, and he's afraid to look at his mentor's face. When he does, it's full of sorrow.

_He looks the same way he did when I got dusted..._

The tears spill over onto his cheeks, and they turn bright red like flowers being watered.

"Oh Pete...." Tony reaches over and hugs him tight. Peter doesn't have the will to resist.

"You did nothing wrong. In fact, I'm astounded that you were able to bring me back.

I never would've managed that at your age-hell, I don't think I could even today."

"Well, I kind of cheated with the glasses..."

Tony looks at him, incredulous.

"Kid, you're missing the point. The fact that you made the glasses in the first place-and successfully achieved gene editing-that's amazing!" Tony is lit up like a christmas tree, his arms outstretched.

"That's...really kind of you, but I just did what needed to be done. You would've done the same."

"Yeah, but I'm like, more than thrice your age."

"Still." Peter starts nervously itching at his shoulder, where the bullet wound from the other day was still healing.

"I-I'm not sure how to say this better, but when I was trying to find out how the hell you powered that transporter, I saw some...disturbing footage."

Peter scratches harder and looks away, relishing the feeling of the stitches tearing loose in his back.

"Can I see your thigh, Pete?" Tony's voice is barely there, but his words hit Peter like a bag of bricks. "I-no, please, it wasn't-I didn't mean for you to see that."

_Oh hell naw_

"I know, kid, and that's what scares me. I just want you to be okay. Can I see? I just need to make sure it's healed."

Peter considers his options, but there's way too much at stake. Reluctantly, the boy scrunches up his soft pant leg. There's only a faint scar left, since it happened within the first month Peter was back. Tony nods, and blinks the tears away.

"Good-were there any complications? Infections? It seems like your healing factor is working..."

_Was working._

Peter straightens out his pants hastily, and takes a shaky sip of coffee. Tony takes a deep breath, like he doesn't want to say whatever he's about to.

"Alright, so did Bruce remove it for you?" His voice sounds hopeful, maybe his mentee was strong enough to seek help. The child seems ashamed.

"No."

"Then....how?" Tony asks, wishing he's wrong.

"I did."

"You-you pulled a bullet out of your own leg?"

"Mmhm."

"After...you know?" He makes a downward stabbing gesture.

"Yep."

_**Teehee** _

"Kid, why didn't you get help?"

"I...burden. I didn't want to be a burden."

"Why the hell would you think that?"

"Listen, Mister Stark, after you left, the team-the world, actually, needed time to grieve."

"And you did that by...." Tony gestures to Peter's thigh and abdomen.

There's a short silence, in which the teen considers his words.

"Yep." Is all he manages.

The billionaire looks at him expectantly, and Peter realises he must continue.

With a sigh, he puts his mug back down on the coffee table.

_**You knew this would happen sooner or later** _

"I needed an outlet for all this...pent up energy."

 _Aggressive sorrow,_ he thinks, _not just energy._

"So I decided to use that to fuel me on patrol. With you gone, crime rates skyrocketed. People seemed to think that you were the protector of the elite, and most of New York City was a mess. I don't need to tell you how bad the worst boroughs were beforehand, but..."

The guilt on Tony's face was palpable.

 ** _Great, now you're making him feel bad. Asshole._** Peter clears his throat.

"But it's okay, I-we uhm...took care of it."

_Well, Steve hid away in his stupid fucking support group, Natasha went around assassinated random rich dudes like she was Green Arrow from the comic books and Clint just...shot things. A lot._

"Underoos, how could you have handled all that on your own?"

"I don't know, but I did."

"But at what price?" Tony rubs his hands together.

 _What have I done,_ he thinks.

"Listen, kid, you know I love you. Like a son."

They both knew it, but neither had ever acknowledged it out loud. Peter feels like he's collapsing in on himself.

"But I can't let you be so self destructive. I mean....tha-that was fucked up, kid."

_Don't take the suit._

Tony sees Peter's breathing quicken, and he scratches his shoulder some more.

"I'm not going to take the suit, because I know that won't stop you."

_Thank. God._

"However,"

_Oh no._

"I'm going to have to ask Karen to keep an eye on you, okay?"

"Mmkay."

"Alright. It's around...uh, FRI?"

"Five PM."

"Right, so Cap's probably making dinner. Why don't you hop in the shower, and I'll get a movie ready. Capische?"

Peter just nods.

"Oh, and one last thing-how did you manage to charge that thing?"

The teen blushes.

"I sort of-I mean, not sort of, I guess I actually did- wait, speaking of which where did.."

"Peter."

"Right, sorry. I borrowed Mr. Thor's hammer and um...lightninged it, so to speak."

Tony's face lights up, and Peter blushes.

"Oh, and um...I may have broken a window...or three.."

The man laughs, and wraps his kid in a hug, kissing the top of his head.

"I am so proud of you!"

The mechanic picks up both of their mugs, and rinses them off in the sink, and Peter creeps over to the window. Without turning around, Tony catches him.

"I sincerely hope you're going over there to close the window for me, not to climb out of it and crawl up the wall to your room, instead of using the elevator."

Peter freezes.

"That's-that's exactly what I was going to do!" He chuckles nervously. Closing the window, the boy hops down and makes his way towards the elevator.

The slow, annoying elevator.

**_Remind you of someone?_ **

"You know me so well, Mister Stark!" Peter grins sarcastically.

"Don't I. See you in the living room, kid."

As soon as the elevator doors close, the man's smile falls from his face, replaced by a look of grim determination.

"FRIDAY, clear out everything from last build session, and prep the Fabricator. We're making a new suit."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Peter walks into his room and collapses on the bed. For a short while, he just lays there. Silent.

_What just happened._

He tries to process the month's events, but they're just....not there.

He can't reach them. It's like it's all...shrouded in white.

_Mmm. White, icing.....wedding dresses....polar bears....wolves_

The teen swaddles his mind in pleasant thoughts, letting himself feel the white.

_Cream._

_French Grey._

_The crown moulding in Tony’s bedroom._

_Light._

_Moths..._

Unfortunately, the daze doesn't last long, and Peter finds himself human again. Real.

Lying in his bed, shoes on and shoulder bleeding. Walking to the bathroom, he sees the blood blossoming like a red wine flower against his white shirt.

_White._

The blood is a part of him, and he's poisoning that crisp white.

_I'm the problem._

Yanking off his clothes and throwing his shirt in the trash, Peter stumbles into the shower and slumps against the cool marble wall.

He sits there for awhile, who knows how long. Naked, shivering, bleeding, aching.

Letting his head fall against the wall, he closes his eyes.

"Karen, please turn on the water, and dim the lights to thirty-percent."

Saying nothing, the AI does his bidding. The teen feels the warm mist from the shower grace his face. Only now that he's tasted the warmth, does he feel the cold.

_**This is great, but snap out of it, Parker.** _

"Mmm." Rolling his head to the side, he actually feels at peace for once.

_Weird._

"Karen, how's dinner coming along?"

"It appears that Mister Rogers is still yelling at his compatriots. When cooking, he bears a striking resemblance to that angry, profane british chef we watched on the roof last year."

_Gordon Ramsay who?_

Peter chuckles.

_**Wake up. NOW.** _

The boy sighs. "Well, there's only one way out of this."

TRIGGER WARNING.

**_Yep._ **

Still in a bit of a trance, the teen exits the shower and grabs a shaving razor from the cupboard, his shaky frame dripping water everywhere like he’s melting.

"Y'know," he says, running his fingers along the flat of the blade,

"I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but..."

Stepping back into the shower, Peter sits down on the marble bench and admires the instrument. It's almost as if that cynical voice in his head has taken over. The happy-go-lucky teen is gone, replaced by a dark, heartless creature, driven by self-hatred.

**_Enough with the theatrics, let's fucking go. Step the FUCK up, Kyle!_ **

Donning the same grin he remembered all those weeks ago in the garage, Peter flicks the blade across his wrist once.

_**C'mon, you've barely broken the skin.** _

"I know, I know." He mutters. Slashing across his forearm, he feels nothing at first. Then, the pain floods over him and he grits his teeth.

**_There you go. No more daydreaming now._ **

"Peter, I advise you to refrain from participating in dangerous behaviour."

”It’s nothing Karen, just nicked myself trying to shave.”

”You shave in the shower?”

Peter sweats. 

_I don’t shave at all..._

”Uh...yeah. Saves water. Hey, can you gimme some privacy?”

She sighs. 

“Very well.”

And the bloodshed continues, onto the smooth dark, marble floor.

The red is everywhere, and Peter realises it isn't all that bad.

Maybe being the problem isn't such a terrible thing.

He smells the blood, the iron.

_Iron. Shit!_

"Ummm Karen, what time is it?" The boy is frantic, as he shakily picks himself off the floor.

"It is six-fifteen in the evening."

"Fuck, fuck fuck...." Peter whispers, like a chant. Washing the blood off the floor and his arms, he feels the hot sting of the water. "Fuck! Ow..."

_**Well, it's your own damn fault. Make up your mind, bitch.** _

"Yeah, I got that..." He says aloud. Fumbling with the towel, (thank god they were charcoal coloured-to match the dark marble finish of the bathroom) the teen pats himself dry. He grabs some old gauze out of the cabinet and wraps his arms hastily. Groaning, he feels the fibres stick to his flesh. "Peter, I'm afraid Mister Stark is requesting your presence in the common room."

 _Fuck_.

The teen fishes some sweatpants, but he can't find any long sleeved shirts.

"I thought I had...." Tearing his wardrobe apart, Peter finds nothing. "Fuckety fuck...."

He pulls on a dark red t-shirt, but layers it with a light hoodie. _I'm forgetting something..._

"Karen, have the shower self-clean."

Heading downstairs, Peter stops halfway down the staircase, breathes, and continues.


	7. Don't Do Anything Rash

The morning after movie night, Tony awoke on the couch. He was tired, and facing the reality that his body would no longer tolerate passing out on random furniture. He turns to the sleeping child slumped against the armrest to his left. Peter nuzzles his head against the tufted leather, and oddly enough, pets it.

"Mmm...Goose."

Tony smirks, and gets up to make breakfast for the kid as his aching back protests. Enlisting the help of Butterfingers (which was, as usual, a terrible idea), the billionaire manages to churn out a plate of pancakes, scrambled eggs, toast and some fresh cut fruit. The man had already gone through three melons and a pineapple, after the first batch was accidentally garnished with a bit of flesh from his left hand, making him realise that he really needed to replace his metal arm. Bruce was good at many things, just not constructing useful prostheses under time constraints. Returning to the sofa, Tony is reminded by Peter's vulnerability, and just how much the kid's been through. And though he's almost sixteen, he seems so childlike. Of course, anyone under thirty years old was basically a kid to him. (Twenty-something supermodels in negligees not included). Peter looked so peaceful, Tony almost didn't want to wake him up.

"Hey, bud." The man shakes his shoulder.

"Pete?"

The teen hums, and stretches his arms out wide. "I know, May, I know." He mumbles.

"It's me, underoos." Tony plants a kiss on the boy's forehead, and returns to the kitchen to take the teabag out of Peter's mug. "C'mon bud, I made breakfast. You should grab some now, before the rest of the team shows up." The teen wipes his eyes, and clambers off the sofa.

"I turned the heat up a little-I know you're always colder in the mornings."

"Oh, thanks." Peter tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie, and ignores the burning in his shoulder.

"Oh my god Mister Stark, what happened to your hand?"

Peter gawks at his mentor's left hand, which was wrapped in crisp white bandages. .

"Oh yeah, just cut myself when I was slicing up the fruit."

_cut myself_

_Cut myself_

_Cut Myself_

_CUT MYSELF!_

His mind screams, and Peter pinches his thigh.

Tony hands him his tea and a stack of pancakes. "Dig in." He says, with a wink.

**_Sure I'll dig in-to my flesh, that is!_ **

_Bro._

**_...with a pitchfork!_ **

_Put the fork down, edgelord._

The mechanic sees the teen clutching his fork and knife, but doesn't mention it.

"Hey kid, wanna help me out in the lab? I gotta replace this piece o' junk before I burn any more innocent pancakes..."

"Yeah, totally." Peter grins, and Tony believes it.

"Awesome. Okay FRIDAY, tell the kids that breakfast is ready."

As if on cue, not thirty seconds later, stomping around could be heard from the floor above.

"Alright bud, finish up. I'm gonna go change, meet you in the garage."

"Mhmm!" Peter says, through a mouthful of food. But as soon as the man leaves the room, the boy clears the rest of the cakes into the trash can, and washes down what little he ate with some tea. Just as he's rinsing off his plate, Steve walks out of the elevator.

**_Just smile, goddammit._ **

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Rogers! Back from your morning run?"

"Morning, son. Yeah, I did a quick lap."

"Around the block?"

"Manhattan."

_Holy shit. That’s like, thirty miles._

_Alrighty then._

"Great. Well, there's breakfast if you want any."

"Let me rinse off, and I'll have some yogurt."

Peter rolls his eyes.

"I saw that!" The sweaty soldier calls, from the staircase.

_Okay, one meal down. Two to go._

Peter follows, and turns left to his bedroom, but bumps into Natasha.

_Oh god, not this again. I hate this...smiling business._

"Good morning, Peter." She smiles warmly.

_Just play along._

"Oh, good morning Miss Romanov! There's breakfast in the kitchen."

"So I've smelled." With that, the spy slinks toward the sweet scent of maple syrup and sausage links.

Clint is on top of the bookshelf.

As soon as his door is closed, Peter crumbles like puff pastry. Pulling off his hoodie and t-shirt, he sees that his arms have bled through the bandages and the insides of his sleeves were a bit damp.

_Good thing it's black._

The boy opens his bathroom cupboard for the gauze, but it isn't there. Panicked, Peter empties the small cupboard of its contents to check. All he had were butterfly bandages and Advil, neither of which he needed right now.

_Okay, okay. Calm down. It's a simple problem, there's gotta be a simple solution._

**_I wonder if that's what your mom said when she found out she was pregnant._ **

_Probably._

_Hmmm...where did Tony get the bandages for his hand? He wouldn't have left me alone on the sofa, so he must have stayed there._

Peter suddenly remembers the first aid stuff in the drawer, from when he fell off the ceiling in the middle of the night and ended up getting stabbed by a steak knife.

"Ummm Karen?"

"Good morning, Peter. Would you like to hear the weather report?"

**_Like it matters-you know we'll be in long-sleeves anyway._ **

"Good morning...I'm okay, I was actually wondering how many people are in the kitchen right now?"

"Five."

_Shit._

"Okay, so kitchen drawer; not an option. Where else...."

_Of course, the most obvious spot._

_Wait-I can only get there through the elevator, given where the windows are located._

_The elevator is in plain view of the kitchen._

_Okay, plan D._

Peter grabs an old SI shirt and rips it into long strips.

_Peter MacGuyver!_

He then unwinds the previous night's gauze, and realises just how deep he had gone.

_Why am I not healing faster?_

The wounds were gaping. Peter remembered having read something online about how if a cut doesn't close on its own, it'll need stitches.

 _Well, fuck._ Realising what he had to do, the teen grabbed the stapler from his desk and opened it up.

Tensing his muscles in anticipation, the teen shoves his bleeding arms under the tap.

 _Big oof_.

As the scabs are washed away, some blood actually squirts from the biggest one.

_Okay, not good. Very not good._

**_Hehe._ **

Peter uses a belt as a makeshift tourniquet, and waits for the bleeding to slow. Clenching his jaw, the teen staples his wounds shut, one by one. At the end, he starts to get dizzy and misses, stapling the bleeding flesh itself. Peter lets out a scream of pain.

_Shit._

Listening, not even breathing, the teen hears footsteps approaching his bedroom door.

 _I got this._ Peter clears his throat.

"Fuck! Owwwwwww.......goddammit!" He shouts, through gritted teeth.  
A few seconds later, there's a knock. "Everything okay in there, bud?"

_Steve. He must be out of the shower._

"Yeah, just stubbed my toe."

"Ah...I was wondering what all that swearing was about." Peter rolls his eyes.

_He can be such a grandma sometimes..._

Tying what's left of the torn up Stark Industries shirt around his face as a gag, Peter pulls the staple out of his arm, and staples that shut as well. At this point, there's blood all over his sink.

He then proceeds to clean the area and knot the shredded grey fabric around his forearms, tugging on the long sleeved striped shirt that he finally found. Exhausted from the pain, the boy flops onto his bed and rests for a minute or so, before bolting upright and rushing out the door.

_Hopefully, that'll take care of things long enough for me to figure something else out._

Peter walks toward the elevator, bidding the rest of the team good morning. Steve was trying to get everyone to eat his yogurt, and pancakes had run out not long after Thor arrived.

Peter makes sure to limp a little when the soldier sees him. _Ya really gotta sell it, Parker._

Pressing the button on the panel, the teen thrusts his hands in his pockets and starts planning.

_The garage is only one floor below the med bay-I could go there first, and take the stairwell down. Those doors aren't alarm activated, right?_

Racking his brain, Peter remembers Bruce telling him about the time when Tony made him take the stairs because The Other Guy was too heavy for the elevator, and he ended up buckling half the staircase in his frustration.

Just as the doors are closing, the man himself holds out his hand to stop them.

_Please don't be going where I think you're going._

"Hey, mind if I join?"

"Oh, good morning, Doctor Banner!" Peter beams.

 _My, he's chipper._ The scientist thinks. _I don't buy it._

"Morning, Pete."

As the elevator descends, the two sciencebros stand in awkward silence. Of course, Bruce was the one to break it.

"So, did you er...sleep well, last night?"

"Yeah, yeah I did. You?"

_Going by the state of those goddamn IKEA bags under your eyes and your sluggish reflexes, I'm surprised you even remember what sleep is. Well, like father like son, I suppose. Maybe I can whip up something to help him sleep better, like Gaius and Morgana from that show he made us all watch. He won't take it if I just give it to him, so what if it's aerosolised? We could programme Karen to release it at a certain time-_

"Doctor Banner? Did you...you know?"

The scientist snaps to attention. "Hmm?"

"Did you sleep well?"

_Huh, weird...Peter thinks._

"Oh yeah, like a baby." _Guess it's just one of those days..._

"Mm. Good."

The elevator arrives on the floor above the garage, just as Peter had feared.

_Great._

"Seeya!"

"Yep, bye Dr. Banner."

Peter waves, and waits for the metal capsule to sink a floor lower.

The teen finds Tony in the garage, still working on the render.

"Oh, hey kid."

"Morning."

"Listen, I know I said we'd work on my arm, but Natasha wants you for training first, and to be honest, she scares the shit outta me."

_AALDKHFEIHEREUYEYRKSELRYHHHFF-_

Peter sighs, and Tony steps away from his hologram display.

"I know, bud, it's just a little while. Besides, I still have to finish sorting some things out." The billionaire gestures toward the bright blue light.

"Okay....see you in an hour?"

"And a half."

_Ha. A little while, my ass._

"Ugh...alright."

Tony grins. "Seeya then, underoos."

"Ugh? I thought you liked me..." Natasha pouts.

Peter whirls around to see the spy standing just a few feet behind him.

"Shit-crackers, jesus christ!"

_Calm down, slow your heart rate. Low blood pressure=less bleeding._

"Shit crackers...interesting combination, kid." The mechanic chuckles from behind his holograms.

"I-you saw her! I mean, you had to have, right?"

Tony just laughs.

"Not cool man...."

Once the two step into the elevator, He looks at his spiderman-watch.

_9:00_

"Okay, why don't I go change, and I'll meet you in the training room?"

"No, actually, I wanted you to wear something casual this time. That's why I sprung it on you. We won't always have the luxury of a wardrobe change when we're out in the field. Especially you."

Peter nods.

_Shitshitshit!_

**_Well this'll be fun._ **

"Let's go, people!"

Everyone sits up, even Clint, who ends up banging his head.

"Owwwww...." The vent says.

Natasha rolls her eyes. Peter breathes.

"Barton, get your feathery ass down here."

He obliges, and jumps down from the vent, somehow not breaking anything.

"Shit, I forgot my bow." The hawk crawls back up to the vent.

"Anyway, there's a situation in North Korea. You know all the twitter bullshit between KJU and POTUS? Well, it's about to become real bullshit. Fury says North Korea's acquired tech that can dampen your powers. All of you have supernatural abilities that you rely on, leaving you vulnerable without them."

Strange raises his hand.

"What's he doing here?" The wizard gestures toward Clint, who is now leaned against the wall, eating an apple. "He's-give me that" Natasha snatches the archer's apple away and tosses it into the trash bin, leaving the man looking genuinely heartbroken. "He's supposed to be helping me demonstrate."

"In other words, I'm here to get my ass kicked." He smirks, still staring at the trash can.

_Yay, me too._

"Wouldn't be the first time..." Nat mumbles.

As widow continued on, Peter noticed that his his bloody sleeves, which had been resting in his lap, were beginning to stain his jeans.

"Uh-Miss Romanov, ma'am, could I use the bathroom? Please?"

He smiles, knowing that the slightly excessive respect would get to her.

"Sure, but hurry up."

"Thank you!" The spider skips off down the hall.

Natasha grins.

Once he's out of sight, Peter sprints.

_It'll take me longer to deal with this than to just use the bathroom, she might get suspicious._

The boy rushes into the bathroom, looking everywhere for anything that could help. Luckily, the restroom next to the training arena had showers and extra clothes; a new addition from last month, when Tony was sick of gross sweaty super heroes wandering about the tower.

"It's like living in a frat house." he'd said. "I didn't graduate two years early just to relive that nightmare." Peter finds one of his dad's long sleeved Metallica shirts, and rips up a bathrobe for bandages. After removing his old bandages and rinsing everything off, he doubles up the sleeves from the robe and slides his forearms into them, and then binds them tight with webs. Tossing his soiled hoodie and bloodied t-shirt into the trash, Peter throws on Tony's top and washes the blood off his hands, dabbing his jeans with a wet paper towel. His spidey senses start going crazy, and the teen hastily wipes off the countertop.

Seconds later, Steve walks in. "Hey son, you coming? We're-wait, what are you doing?"

"Oh, um...there was water all over the counter, so I thought I'd clean it off."

The soldier smiles. "You're such a good kid."

_Heh. Yeah..._

"Thanks, man." Peter playfully punches Steve's shoulder on his way out, and runs back to the gym.

Natasha considers the reddish stains underneath the teen's fingernails, the wet spots on his black jeans and most notably, his change of clothes.

_If it's anything serious, it'll reveal itself soon._

Nodding at him knowingly, the spy can see the kid visually tense up.

Peter's heart beats even faster.

_What does she know?_

The spider spends the next half hour watching Natasha kick Clint's ass (as predicted) and beating the literal crap out of poor Bucky (Peter kicked him in the gut, and he ran off to the bathroom).

Eventually, Nat had everyone test out the new manoeuvres she'd taught them.

"Alright Pete, don't hold back." Cap was standing in front of him, shifting his weight.

"Only if you don't either!"

The two fought, grappling back and forth. It was obvious that Steve was holding back, especially when Peter managed to flip him over, onto the floor.

"Alright buddy, you got me."

He puts his hands up in submission as the teen removed his foot from the soldier's chest, only for his opponent to grab his leg and yank him to the ground. They continued on like this. Steve got pretty into it, and it was growing increasingly clear that something wasn't right.

"Hey Rogers, you okay?" Came Natasha's muffled voice. The soldier kept battering Peter-who easily evaded his attempts. "Dude, it's break time. C'mon." Bruce called.

 _What is he doing?_ Peter rolled between his legs, barely missing his punch. Steve's fist went straight through the poured concrete floor.

 _Alright, he wants to play rough._ The teen upped his game in accordance, using his spideypowers despite what Natasha had told him. But the soldier kept on, giving it his all. "Hey Cap, you alright there?" Peter asked, his voice low. All the man did was scream, and charge as him with his fists forward. Gripping the teen's wrist, Cap slammed him onto the ground, and kicked him across the floor.

_Everything hurts. Just kill me now, please. It's obvious HE wants to, at least._

"Oh my god, he's gonna kill him." Nat ran forward to try and restrain him, but Steve threw her body into a stand of dumbbells.

 _Huh. He's gonna kill me..._ Peter thought.

"No, no no no! Peggy!!" Steve let out a heart wrenching wail, and started sobbing uncontrollably.

Cautiously, the teen approached him, his heart breaking a little at the sight. He knew all too well what this was.

"Hey dude, you having a flashback? It's okay, you'r-"

The soldier grabbed the spider by the elbow and threw him down on the ground.

_Holy shit. Fuck. Wait....we're going to die._

**_It's showtime, people._ **

With a sad smile, Peter let himself be thrown around like a ragdoll. Whirling in a circle, Steve let the boy go flying into the wall, cracks all around him.

_That's eight broken ribs in one week. I am so screwed when May gets back...._

He could have stuck to the wall, but he didn't. "He's not even trying...will somebody tell me where in the _fuck_ Barnes is?" Clint says. From the floor, Peter watches as the soldier fights off his colleagues with ease. Knowing that their powers made them stronger, no one wanted to hurt him, so he was hurting them. Seething, Steve turns to the spider sprawled out among the chunks of drywall.

**_Aw, shit. Here we go again._ **

The soldier picks Peter up off the ground, placing him on his feet. The teen regains control for a split second, before Steve sends him hurtling up to the ceiling, where he sticks. Scrambling over the wide steel rafters, the spider frantically beat upon the roof. Wedging himself between one of the beams and the ceiling, Peter pushes up with all his strength.

_Oh god, not again_

_Please, somebody help_

Suddenly, it’s the building on his back.

_Come on, Parker._

"Nonono..." He whimpers.

Suddenly, Peter hears mechanical whirring below him.

_Not the wings, don't let him use the wings..._

He's filled with the irrational fear that Toomes was below him.

_I can almost hear his voice..._

Peter slaps himself across the face.

"Snap out of it, Parker!"

Gaining the courage to look down, the boy grips the beams.

To his relief, he can see none other than Iron Man, standing before a large, metal, dome-shaped cage.

Inside of it he can hear screaming.

"M-Mister-"

Peter coughs, spraying blood all over feet.

**_Splatter paint!_ **

"That's not good..."

"Hey kid! Why don't you come down from there."

"Mmkay. Coming..."

The teen leaps from his perch and tries to shoot a web, but is reminded by the cold, hard concrete that he wasn't wearing his webshooters. As his body collides with the ground, Peter feels like his insides are exploding against his ribcage, fighting to get out.

_I can't breathe, I can't breathe..._

Suddenly, he's riding a horse.

_No, not a horse, but it's bumpy..._

Peter can hear singing.

_Lalala....wait, no, it's angry singing_

_It's shouting...._

_Why are you shouting?_

The voices are scared, he can tell.

But the boy’s hearing starts to fade.

...doesn't look good...

...medbay, so I can...

... rat bastard motherfucker lays a goddamn finger on my kid again I'll kick America's sorry ass so fucking hard he'll end up on Sakaar with the rest of his kind, piece of shit...

...bleeding internally...

Then, he falls again, only this time it's only a few centimetres, and onto a fluffy cloud.

_No, it's a bed. But why does it hurt twice as much?_

The world starts spinning, and the colours swirl around him. It's beautiful.

Delirious, he giggles and reaches out to grab one.

_Where am I? This isn't so bad.....can I stay?_

_Dad?_

_Dad??_

_Daddy!_

_Help, there's something on my mouth..._

_Daddy I can hear you, don't leave me, not again..._

...get Strange, now...

...WHERE IN THE FUCK IS HE? Imma kill him. I swear to fucking god, that son of a bitch... pay for this. Tenfold...

..alm down, Tony...

...hy don't you step out...

...my kid...either in here with him, or you can let me in that cage with Rogers. By the time I'm done with him...

...is it illegal to blow up my own gym? I mean, it _is_ mine...nuclear warheads...

...don't...anything rash...

A sharp pain in the crook of the kid's elbow makes him jump, but within seconds, he's out.


	8. The Long Game

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

The slow, steady beating of his heart fills the silence, and Tony is grateful."He's okay," they told him. Problem was, that's exactly what Peter had told everyone. "I'm okay, I'm fine."

Dr. Cho said that through the medically induced coma, Peter was healing fast. The man's withered eyes are afraid to glimpse his child. Everyone knows he's alive, but he certainly doesn't look the part. The boy's hair is greyish and brittle, his eyes sunken deep into their sockets. His arms were bandaged up to the elbow, and his bones had been rebroken and set. Now, everyone was waiting.

_How could I have let this happen?_

_I didn't get there soon enough._

_I wasn't there for him._

_I didn't check on him enough._

But what Tony doesn't understand-and probably never will-is that there is no “ _I”_ in this situation. He did what he could, but it wasn't his fault.

_I left him._

_This can never happen again._

So there the billionaire sat-thinking, sleeping, waking, watching. Watching over his only son-his first child, really. Tony doesn't know how long it's been-hours, days, maybe even a week. Occasionally, someone will come to bring him food and attempt to lure him back to the land of the living. They tell him how long it's been, what time it is, etc. He usually acknowledges it in passing, but finds himself unable to recall it later. His only timepiece was the sun, which changed its height from time to time, casting Peter's delicate features in different light.

His phone had died long ago, and his wrist watch was shattered from the day they brought Peter in.

The child's blood still stained the delicate watch face-drops, from his bleeding lip. Every now and then, Tony would talk to it-after all, the vibrant red held more life than his kid did right now, even as it faded to brown.

 _I'm losing my mind,_ he muses. And so the days came and went like fleeting birds headed south.

Employees died, concerts were bombed, Morgan had a school function that he was supposed to go to, but neither she nor Pepper bothered even asking. They knew what he'd say-or, rather, what he wouldn't say. Every night, his wife would stand him up and guide him to Peter's en suite shower, and she'd leave a bundle of clothes and a chocolate truffle in a little gold leaf wrapper. He practically lived out of Peter's makeshift hospital room. The engineer would sit in his little chair, then move to the foot of the boy’s bed, leaning against the wall, and back to his shitty IKEA chair again. Every now and again he'd throw in some variety-sitting with his legs over one armrest and his back against the other, or cuddling up next to Peter.

The team had given up a short while ago, when Sam brought him lunch.

When the falcon came back with a sizeable bruise and Tony's uneaten meal for the second time that week, they soon realised that any attempts to convince the hero to leave his kid’s side were futile. The world went on without him-national emergencies, missions, board meetings-he'd even fallen out of the public eye, which hadn't happened in...well, ever. Tony was a celebrity from the day he was born. He knew he was abandoning the world, like he abandoned Peter.

But Peter was more important than the world. The US army could all get shitfaced and hit California with a dozen nukes, for all he cared. Natasha understood, though.

Every other day at some exact time in the afternoon-right when that random alarm from a watch or phone buried in the offices across the hall would beep annoyingly. The spy would walk in and just stand there, watching over the spider. Even though he wasn't doing much, Tony felt obligated to be there for the teen-to protect him. From what, he hadn't the faintest clue. But when Natasha took her defensive stance and positioned herself between Peter and the door, Tony always managed to drift off, knowing that his son was safe. What the billionaire found was most remarkable about her behaviour was that she was always there when he woke up. Always. Because she knew if she wasn't, Tony wouldn't sleep again. The man always awoke to her standing there, in the same position she was in before- arms crossed, right foot slightly in front of the left. He often wondered if she'd sit down or leave as soon as he fell asleep and jump back just as he was waking, or if she really did stand there. Guiltily, Stark knew the answer. Even if the sun was up when he nodded off and was rising again when he awoke, she was still there. Albeit, looking a bit more tired than before, but still there. Right in front of the left, arms crossed.

Her head cocked so that her left ear would catch the sound from the hallway bouncing off the wall to her left, the spy's right ringers outstretched to jab at someone's windpipe, and her left poised to grab their trapezius pressure point right above the clavicle.

Ready to protect him from anything, because no one could protect him from himself.

Eventually, his aunt returned from Ireland. Tony insisted that she stayed abroad a little longer to enjoy herself-her nephew's condition was stable, and there's nothing she could've done at this point to help him. It was a long, waiting game.

And so he played.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, this chapter was pretty boring, but I wanted to see how Tony would deal with Peter's "death", especially after experiencing something similar himself. Also-if y'all don't give me feedback, the quality of the story will steadily decrease. Raw creativity's great-but without any outside input, it'll become either dull or redundant, neither of which is fun for either of us.
> 
> That is, with the assumption that anyone other than my friends are reading this.


	9. May

_So this is what it's like?_

Peter hears voices, and it's like he's in the water again, with the blanket, only now there was no blanket. Just water, a vast expanse of dark green.

 _Beautiful._ He isn't sinking, nor is he floating. He just...is. Things start to stir in the shadows.

Well, not quite things. Just ideas of things. The teen tunes into his abilities and strains to make out what the voices are saying, but all he hears are tones. Anger, concern, frustration. All of them are unidentifiable-all but one.

Tony. Peter hears pain, Peter hears shouting. Fighting. Hears the sorrow in the silence, and the sound of his warm tears rustle in his wispy hair, growing cold. The things in the shadows stir more, and the boy wonders what they are. Great big shadow-creatures that lurk in his periphery, but vanish when he looks.

_Frozen, I can't get away I can't get away!_

Peter never realised how trapped he was until he tried to leave. It was like he was in space-the water molecules surrounding him appeared to be entirely unaffected by his presence. He felt exposed, out in the middle with those things.

_I deserve this. I don't care what it is, I don't care what it'll do to me._

**_There ya go._ **

But his body thought otherwise, his sixth sense screaming as his spine tingled like it was channeling electricity. The spider thrashed about, and then stopped.

_They're going to get me...._

Peter notices the shadows had grown closer, slowly.

_I deserve to be gotten._

There was something he'd done...he couldn't remember. But he deserved it, he was sure.

_Right?_

_Please, forgive me-_

**_What the hell do you mean, forgive us? After what we've done?_ **

_...what was that again?_

Silence.

Why couldn't he think?

He wanted to be cross with himself about damaging Tony's things, but the dude ripped his own mansion apart to build a giant hula hoop so he could shoot lasers at a metal dorito. A few million spent on repairs seemed insubstantial compared to his current situation....

...since when had he started to think like that?

Sometime between now and last year, Peter had started thinking less like a bewildered teenager and more like...Tony, actually.

The boy hears the voices getting louder, more pronounced, yet he still failed to decipher what the hell they were saying.

The shadows creep closer and closer, and Peter sees his whole world...

...brightening?

Suddenly, he feels. The shadows are gone, and all the horrors of a hospital room are presented to him on a silver platter, only it's not a hospital room, it's his own bedroom. The chair in the corner is surrounded by empty coffee cups, and the nightstand next to his pillows is littered with over a dozen chocolate truffles, wrapped up in neat little gold leaf wrappers.

_What is this?_

Peter touches the fine linen sheets and his soft pillow case, feeling his way around but keeping his eyes closed to the world, staying in that horrible, beautiful shadow-ocean. But he hears the voices again and shrinks back, for the shadows were rather close...

But he feels the rough, gentle hand of his mentor against his cheek. His thumb was... _wet?_

No, it was his own cheeks. Peter takes a breath and remembers his ocean, and opens his eyes to Tony. "FRI, lights to twenty-percent," the voice says.

The boy sees everything darken, and is terrified for a moment. But his vision clears, and he sees the man himself sitting next to him on his bed.

Tony's eyes are...his skin...and that hair, ew...he's just a hot mess, and sporting a brand new arm.

Peter tries to smile, the muscles in his face rebelling.

"I'd have thought it would be...redder."

The billionaire's whole face lights up dramatically, and the boy realises that had he not known that smiles were a good thing, associated with happiness, he would have bolted out the door and straight out the window.

_Fuck, that was creepy._

He glances down at his metal appendage, filtered sunlight creeping into the cracks where the interlocking plates meet. "Oh, yeah...I decided to go for something a little more low profile."

Oddly enough, the brilliant coppery sheen of the titanium had the exact opposite effect.

"I like it." Peter smiles, his breath rattling against the tubes up his nose and into the oxygen tank to his left.

 _Ew-what the hell?_ The teen rips out the breathing device, and crosses his legs.

Tony just stares, eyes glazed over.

"Uhm, Mister Stark? You there?" The billionaire's face is unreadable; it's as if he's frozen in time, between emotions.

"Mister Stark?" Peter waves his hand.

_Stark.exe has stopped working_

"What? Oh, yeah. Sorry." The man snaps to attention and presses his palms into his glassy eyes. "Yeah, I just can't believe you're...alive." The last word was barely a whisper, but Peter caught it.

_Wait-is he crying?_

Tony walks over and sits down next to the kid on his bed, and rests his head against Peter's shoulder. "Yeah, well, it'll take a little more than that to get rid of me."

The man chuckles, and the two stay like that for what feels like ages, until Peter breaks the silence.

"Is he...?"

"Yep."

_Cap is dead?_

"Wait-what?"

"What? Oh, no, he's still alive."

"Injured?"

"Define injured."

Peter lets out a cackle. "Well, as long as he's not hospitalised."

Tony looks away.

"Right? He isn't, is he?"

"No, not anymore-I mean, of course not." The man dismisses this notion far too quickly.

Guilt seeps through Peter’s bones. _It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t mean to do it._

"Mhmm." The teen hops out of bed with a surprising amount of gusto-even for him, ignoring his concern for Steve.

"Whoa there, kiddo, don't die on me again. Why don't you get some rest?"

"I've been resting for-wait, how long?"

Tony frowns. "Errr...six weeks, four days and sixteen hours."

Peter's eyebrows shoot towards the ceiling. "Shit. Oh my god, school. I have to get back to-wait, May! Is she back yet? Of course she's back-"

"It's alright, buddy. She's at the apartment."

"Okay..." Peter is shuffling through his drawers for clothing.

"Hang on, kid, you shouldn't even be up yet."

"I'm fine, da-ster Stark, I just have to go check on May."

 _Daster Stark? That's a new one,_ Tony thinks.

"Okay, well, are you feeling dizzy?"

"No."

"Tired?"

"Nope."

"Hungry?"

"No." _Liar._

"What abou-"

"I'm alright, seriously."

_**Bahahaaaaa** _

Tony sighs. "Okay, fine. Lemme go change my shoes and I'll meet you at the car."

"Kay." Peter looks down and raises an eyebrow at his mentor's pink fuzzy slippers.

"I uh...I lost a bet."

"Mhmm." The teen shoots him a dubious look as the man shuffles out of his room and into the hall, closing the door softly.

Peter looks around at the medical equipment that litters his bedroom, knowing he'll never be able to see the place the same way again.

With a grin, he plugs in his phone and starts untying the hospital gown.

"Karen, hit it."

_I wonder what she'll play. Probably Tony's death metal._

Instead, his room is filled with the husky vocals and dreamy instrumentals of Destiny's Child and other 90s hits, and to Peter's disgust, he actually likes the music. It reminds him of...people in New York-one of the happiest, most depressing places on the planet-trying to make life as pleasant as possible through sound, since cheerfulness never lasts and paint always chips. Also, Sesame Street, for some odd reason. The teen's hips shake side-to-side in his _Thwip Thwip_ spiderman briefs as he paces around his room, checking the weather on his dying phone. Suddenly, his spidey senses creep in.

_There's no one here, why am I freaking out?_

He shrugs it off, blaming the after-effects of the anaesthesia. That is, until he hears a familiar creak. His entire frontal cortex goes offline, and the survival part of his brain screams 'DANGER!'

Instinctively, the spider heads for the one place no one else would be able to get to him-the ceiling. Dr. Dre babbles on, and Peter reconsiders his situation.

_Wait a second, what the hell are we doing?_

Then, he hears a terrified scream, scaring the shit out of Peter, who screams in return. The door slams shut and the spider's sensitive hearing picks up a fast but slowing heart beat on the other side of the door. _Shit_. The teen jumps down from the ceiling and lands on the side of his ankle.

"Gah!" There's a knock at the door.

_Shit. Fuck._

Peter hops back over to his dresser and throws on a shirt and jeans, zipping them up as he retrieves his cracked phone from the floor.

"Uhm...can I come in?" The door asks.

"Uh yeah, just one sec." Peter shoves his bare feet into his old sneakers and runs a hand through his hair, opening the door.

"Oh, hi. I'm Harley."

_Holy shit._

"I'm...hello."

"I thought your name was Peter?"

"Right, yes, Peter. Not hello. Heh."

Harley nods.

"I mean, yes, hello, but I meant to say that as a separate statement from my identifying myself, not...you get it."

Harley's eyes twinkle, and his mouth twitches.

"I just heard music, and I thought you were-you know, comatose."

"Yeah, I woke up. Well, obviously. I mean, I wouldn't really be here if I were still...do you think people can sleep walk in a coma?" Peter's eyes light up with curiosity, before he remembers his mistake. The other boy smirks, but it isn't a mean smirk. It's a smirk of admiration, almost parental admiration.

_No, that's not it._

_Hmmm..._

"Sorry, I...lot of time spent asleep, not talking, so now that I can talk, I can't seem to..."

"Shut up?" Harley suggests.

"Yeah." Peter's face reddens.

"It's okay. It's kinda cuuu-nning."

_Oh my god he totally almost said cute holy shit wait a sec, cute? That's...endearing, yet oddly patronising. I'm a vigilante for fuck's sake, I'm not...cute._

Peter nods conclusively, seeing Harley's cheeks turn a rather alarming shade of scarlet.

"Anyway, I um...just wanted to drop by and introduce myself."

"Well, nice meeting you."

"Yeah, you too." Instead of leaving, both boys just linger there in rapt attention. It's only interrupted when the spider hears Natasha's familiar gait around the corner, and he starts to turn away.

"Yeah, I should probably...you know, paperwork. Intern stuff." Harley offers.

"Right, yeah. Bye!" Peter waves awkwardly and Harley returned the gesture behind his back. Peter sees Natasha raise a knowing eyebrow at Harley's expression as he closes the door.

He turns away and collapses on the hard floor, straight onto his ass.

_Owwwww...._

_Ohmygod he was so hot!_

_Why was he here?_

_He said intern work...is he my replacement?_

_I mean, it's not like I can really help Mister Stark out as much, now that I'm officially an avenger._

_Well, I don't help in general._

_Who is he?_

_And why does he seem so familiar_? Peter stares at the scratches on the hardwood floor as his brain struggles to process what he just saw, hormones raging. The last time he felt this way was right after he'd reached the summit of one of the great emerald mountains in the soul realm. Even though he felt hopeless and bored out of his mind, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.....

Until now. The teen jumps for the second time that morning as he remembers.

 _Shit, Tony._ Peter hops up, and looks out the window.

_He's probably waiting..._

Avoiding the slow elevator, Peter snaps on his webshooter cuffs and leaps out his window, swinging into the garage entrance on the street.

"Hey Mister Stark."

"Oh hey kid." Tony was turned toward the elevator, expecting his arrival.

"I just uhm...the elevator was busy, and so I came down the stairs and took the wrong exit..."

"Okay. As long as you aren't swinging around the building-I just had it cleaned." Stark climbs into his car, and Peter can tell he obviously doesn't believe his staircase story.

Pulling out of the garage, Tony pulls into traffic, rambling about the copious amount of paperwork involved in cleaning a skyscraper, and how he'd flown missiles and smuggled bourbon across the border with less trouble. 

"Okay, so...where d'you wanna go for breakfast afterwards?"

Peter thinks-like, actually thinks, trying to summon a craving.

_Mmmm....bananas, fluffy...._

"iHop?" He blurts out.

**_Fatass._ **

The billionaire does a double take, and turns his whole body to face Peter.

"Kid, we could literally have brunch with Gordon Ramsay himself, and you want iHop?"

Peter blushes. "Kinda...May used to take me there."

Tony nods, understandingly. "Alright, your wish is my command."

The teen has to physically restrain himself from giggling.

_Holy shit-Iron Man just said that. Hahaa.........if only Greg from third grade could see us now....._

"Who's Greg?" Tony asks with a smirk.

"What? Oh.." _I said that out loud?? Fuck._

"No, kid, you just mumbled it. My hearing wasn't great after my snap, so the chip does it for me...I can hear everything now."

A devilish smile creeps across his lips.

"Oh, that's cool. Greg was uhm-turn right here." The man swerves violently to the right, and the teen is certain he just broke at least a dozen traffic laws. "Greg was a kid in lower school who was a fan of yours...he had all the merch that I couldn't afford, so..."

Tony's face seems a little sad, but it only lasts a split second before he's glaring at the driver in front of him.

_**What, are we too white trash for you?** _

_No, man, he feels bad for us._

"Move out of the way, asshole!" The car somehow shrinks to fit between two of the cars ahead of them, and expands to fit in the space farther up, leaving the other motorists somewhat...alarmed. Tony keeps on driving, as if nothing ever happened.

"What the...isn't that illegal? Is this thing even road safe?"

"Kid, I own the law." With that, the billionaire pulls up to Peter's apartment.

"Alright, I'll go park, see you in a second."

The teen swallows.

_I live here. She's family, so why am I so nervous?_

**_....becauseyou'reapussy?_ **

_Not helpful._

"You okay, bud?" Tony rests a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"What? Oh, yeah, no I'm fine, I just...miss her, I guess. Anyway..." The boy shakily steps out of the car as the honking from behind grows louder. "I'll see you..."

"In a minute, yeah." He finishes, and drives away. The teen pulls himself out of incoming traffic right before some douchebag in a pickup nearly hits him, middle finger high in the air.

_**Awwww he missed.** _

The spider rolls his eyes and approaches the door with trepidation.

His finger trace the lines etched into it-a faint burn mark from that explosion two years ago, scratches all over the bottom from where May would lock uncle Ben out if he didn't eat his breakfast. Peter smiles fondly at the memory-his aunt asking Ben if he'd picked up something on the way to work, and 'no, Benjamin, coffee does not count.'

He would stand there, shuffling his feet, and she'd open the door and they'd cuddle.

When the spider was younger, he was reproachful of the notion-the people he looked up to, being so touchy feely-and gross! Only now that it's over does he see how sweet it was.

The teen's hand hovers over the beaten door, and yet he just can't seem to bring himself to knock. He'd spent so long in the care of Tony-who didn't know everything about him, who didn't know the extent of his vulnerability. But pressing his lips together and fishing a smile out from deep inside him, Peter lifts his fist, and he knocks.

Seconds later, his beloved aunt appears in the doorframe. She looks tired, but fulfilled. Like she's just eaten thanksgiving dinner-only without the food.

_Well....she did actually put on a couple pounds. Good for her._

Her cheeks are rosy and ample, and a smile lights up her face like a flower unfurling in those nature-documentary time-lapse scenes.

"Peter!" May lunges forward and squeezes her nephew.

"I've missed you so much...." They rock back and forth, and the boy feels. He just...feels.

The two stand there, across the threshold, and Peter is reminded that May is all he has left.

His flesh and blood, she is part of him. He laughs and hugs back.

"I missed you too, May." The spider feels a tingle, and he knows that Tony is less than twenty feet away. All he has to do is pull away the tiniest bit, and the woman is already dragging him into the living room. Tony remains at a respectful distance, but sits upon the concrete steps once the door is closed and rests his fuzzy chin on his fist, head down and hat brim low to hide his face.

Meanwhile, Peter is thrown pillows, a blanket, and suddenly, there are cookies.

Like, more cookies than he'd ever seen in one house.

The boy is slightly bewildered as his aunt whirls around the cosy living room, pouring warm Earl Grey in one of three cups, all part of a sprawling, delicate tea set he never even knew they had.

Actually, it was multiple sets. All beautiful, yet cobbled together.

_How very Parker of us._

May places a creamer and a little porcelain sugar pot on the crowded coffee table and just stops, staring thoughtfully at the spot next to Peter on the couch. "Oh, I'll go get him," the boy says.

Before she can stop him, the teen leaps up from the sofa and jogs to the door.

_Oh, Mister Stark._

He sighs, looking down at his mentor on the cold steps. He's slouched against the railing, his forearm resting on his knee. "Hey, come in. What are you doing?" Stark stands up gingerly, and walks past Peter holding the door.

"Oh, I didn't want to...intrude on your little family reunion-hey, May."

"Hello, Tony." She wraps him in a warm hug, and pecks him on the cheek.

"Ooh." His eyebrows dance across his forehead. Hopping back into her chair with a steaming cuppa in her lap and her legs folded beneath her, she. resembles an excited child.

The boy plops himself back onto the sofa, while Tony removes his hat and seats himself next to his kid, his left arm resting behind Peter's shoulders on the couch, and the spider's head knocks against his almost-father's sleeve out of habit. May observes.

She sips her tea, and stares them down expectantly.

"So," she says, putting the cup down on the small table next to her chair.

"Tell me everything."

_nodon't_

Peter smiles inwardly, remembering the burger joint.

The three of them talk long into the morning-well, Tony and May talk, Peter mostly eats cookies and occasionally remarks on the conversation. The billionaire explains the events of the past few months-Tony's arrival, his new arm, Steve's explosion.

_He never mentioned.............._

They talk about Peter's living situation, and the aunt agrees that he should move back in, now that she's home.

Eventually, May tells Peter to change his shirt-it's got three too many stains, so he grabs his tea and goes to his room. The adults in the living room are talking in hushed tones, but he hears it all.


	10. Armour

Tony's POV

As soon as the kid's door closes, May's eyes snap back to mine.

"So?"

I know exactly what she means.

"So...he's had a pretty rough time of it."

The woman sighs, brushing her auburn hair out of her eyes.

"I knew I shouldn't have left him alone..."

"He's perfectly capable of taking care of himself, I'm just not certain he does."

She silently agrees, staring intently at the bloodred soles of my sneakers.

"Listen, you couldn't have known it would have gotten that bad."

"How bad was it?"

"Twenty-seven stitches."

"Holy shit," she breathes.

"It wasn't all him, though. He got beat up pretty bad..."

"By whom?" Her eyebrows furrow almost accusingly at me.

"During training. It was an accident-Cap had a flashback and lost it."

"Lost it?"

"Yeah...Pete got thrown around a bit, but it was the fall that did it."

" _Did_ it?" Her eyes narrow.

_Shit, she's never gonna leave him with me again._

"Just from the ceiling."

"In the gym?"

"Yyyyyep."

"That's at least fifty feet." Her voice is a little angrier now.

"Sixty-three, actually." I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.

May nods slowly.

I'm in so much trouble...

"He should've been fine."

"I know."

She cocks her head for an explanation.

"Low blood sugar, really low BMI, preexisting wounds, therefore no accelerated healing."

May's eyes glaze over a bit, and she looks at me with anger. It isn't directed at me, though.

"Don't worry, I put him in the hospital for a month."

"Just one?" The corner of her mouth twitches, and I chuckle.

"I know, I know, but I had Fury and the rest of the team on my ass for awhile after that."

Silence.

"It was worth it, though." She nods.

"It always is," she whispers.

We sit quietly for awhile, listening to clock on the wall.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

I restrain the urge to blast it through the wall.

"We both know he's far stronger than Rogers."

I nod, eyes shut.

"Which can only mean..." She trails off.

"He wasn't trying." I finish for her.

The woman opens her mouth to speak, but I know what she'll say.

"I've already planted cameras on his suit, and his AI will let me know if anything fishy goes down."

She refills her teacup.

"But what about-"

"School? Already gotcha covered."

She raises an eyebrow, and places the teapot back on the table.

"Y'know those noise-cancelling headphones I got him last year?"

May nods understandingly.

"Perfect-he wears them all the time, you know. Says they remind him of you."

_Awww..._

She grins, and leans back in her chair, and I can't help but do the same.

"I'm glad he likes them."

Peter's POV

My back against the door, I take in the scene. My carpet is a bit dusty, and little light makes its way in through the window by my bed. I look out at the cloudy skies, and feel a strange longing.

Brushing my fingertips across my desk, I smile at those crowded four walls like an old friend. But I feel a pit in my stomach when I see the bathroom door. Opening it cautiously, the greyish-white surfaces feel like hands trying to hold me down. There are faint bloodstains in the grout between the tiles, and I'm there again.

It's sharp, I'm bleeding, I can't treat my injuries here.

I feel the ghost of that bullet in my thigh, and I almost see myself pulling my ragged suit back on and swinging out the window, trailing blood. There are orangey stains on the carpet.

My elbow collides painfully with the smooth floor as I collapse, and I feel the ceiling coming down on me.

No, not again.

Tony's POV

I brace myself for the inevitable conversation.

"You know, he's grown pretty attached to you."

I nod.

"Well, he's a really sweet kid. Besides-I am Iron Man, after all."

I grin smugly, prompting an eye roll from May.

"I'm serious, Tony. He hasn't been this whole since Ben..."

_If only I were enough._

Grief flashes across her delicate features, but vanishes in an instant.

"Yeah, well, I do my best."

"Which is...surprisingly good."

"Surprising?"

"You know what I mean," she teases, lacing her fingers.

_Yeah, I do. Poor kid..._

"Speaking of which, I did promise him iHop, and it's..."

I glance at the watch Peter built for me, struggling a bit as I move the cuff of my blazer away from its face.

_9:00._

"There's a clock right there."

"Ugh, don't remind me. Pete! Pancakes!"

Silence.

"Underoos?"

Peter's POV

"I wish you hadn't come here..."

"Nononooonnononononononnoo..." I clutch my head, trying desperately to drown out the voices.

I feel the weight on my shoulders again, and the aching in my back grows stronger.

"Please, somebody help!"

_I should be dead, I should be dead....it's so heavy_

**_Just kill us, get it over with_ **

The concrete is crushing me slowly, and I can feel my vertebrae splintering like wood, knives stabbing my insides. Frantically, I scratch at my stomach as the pain becomes unbearable.

Twisted metal embeds itself in my flesh.

_I need my suit, I need my...._

"Karen!" I wail, and I can hear the sickening cracks from my bones. Curling up on the ground, I wait for the pain to subside. My fingers are covered in blood-

When did that happen?

\- and a lone spider scuttles across the floor.

_Ican'tbreatheIcan'tbreatheIcan't_

I clutch my headphones, and whimper quietly into the soft ear cuff.

**_Pathetic._ **

I breathe rhythmically, in time with the slow Pink Floyd pouring from the headphones.

_Headphones._

_I'm on the ground, I'm home._

The song ends, and I feel my body twitching. My head is swimming, and the things are getting closer...

_...is it over?_

The room is uncharacteristically quiet, and I take refuge in the silence. Letting the word pass on around me, the spider's made its way to the other side of the room.

I begin to notice parts of the bathroom I never had before-the crack in the upper-right corner of the doorframe, a spot of mold where the shower tiles meet the drywall. A cobweb under my toilet, a spare razor taped beneath the door. I watch the spider crawl under the door, and I feel myself getting stuck.

_NOnonononoo_

I breath.

In,

And out.

In,

And out.

My heart rate is dropping gradually, and I've almost got a handle on it when he opens the door.

The hinge squeals, metal on metal, and I scream. The tension in my body is released as every muscle tenses, and I can feel my head smack against something hard and metal.

"...ter."

"...eter?"

"C'mon buddy....gotta wake up.....pancakes?"

_Mmmmmm....pancakes._

_Shit, I haven't eaten since that burger..._

My stomach growls loudly, and brings me back to reality with Tony's low, smooth voice.

"Hey, bud. You're okay." Something is wrapped around me, something's got me...

I squirm a little.

"No, no I can't be trapped again...get me outta here..."

The arms holding me squeeze a little tighter-firm, but gentle.

_There's that voice again._

"Hey, kid, you're alright. It's okay. I'm here, I've got you."

_He's got me, dad's got me, so I hold on tight._

"Don't let me go, please, not again..." I weep.

**_Stfu, don't be so weak. Oh, for fuck's sake...get it together, Parker!_ **

I look into his lined face, and see heartbreak.

_I did that._

"Oh Pete, I'll never let you go. Ever."

"But.."

There's always a catch.

"..you have to promise not to let yourself go, okay? Can you do that for me, bud?"

_Hahaaaaa....nope._

His voice is wet, and so are his cheeks.

"Okay." I say, but it isn't me. It's the voice of a child-small, scared.

_Who am I?_

Nobody's POV

The two sat there on the bathroom floor, Tony's legs stretched out, barely fitting in the space between the sink and the toilet. The spider is curled up in his lap like a toddler, and the man realises how much he reminds him of Morgan. Long, dark eyelashes bat with uncertainty, and his porcelain cheeks are covered in scratches as blood dries in his hair and on his fingertips.

 _Oh, Pete..._ He thinks. The billionaire's heart breaks for this child-his child. He realises that it isn't enough to swear your allegiance to someone, to say you'll do anything for them, even if it is true. You have to actively protect them. The difference between a father and a mentor is that Tony was always there to clean up the mess, to help Peter put himself back together.

_I just won't let you fall apart. Ever._

He strokes the boy's matted hair thoughtfully, and tries not to shift his legs under the weight of the teen.

A few minutes later, May opens the door slowly. Tony noticed how scared she seemed, gulping at the bloodstains on the floor.

_What was she expecting?_

Looking down at them on the floor, the kid in his lap, snuggled against his chest, she smiles.

There's a strange feeling, something Tony'd never felt before. A sort of...completeness.

He felt whole.

The man had a taste of that when he was with Pepper and Morgan, but here, with this woman, and his child, he felt like he had finally corralled all the important people in his life, like he was no longer running around trying to sew himself back together.

The two adults share a knowing smile, but they need no words.

May walks over to the small heap of warmth, and folds her legs beneath her on the floor.

Leaning against Tony, she strokes Peter's back. Eventually, she falls asleep as well, her fragrant head resting on the mechanic's shoulder. The teen nuzzles his head beneath Tony's chin, and May snuggles closer to the both of them, her soft arm entwined with his metal one. They're both wrapped around him like armour. His arm warbles in response, sending chills up to his shoulder.

_What the fuck?_

They both knew that though they did not have love for each other, they had all the love in the world for this mess of a teenager. So this unconventional family rested together, in the most natural way they could think of.

Peter is safe in their arms...

....right?


	11. Bubbles

Peter groggily opens his eyes. His back aches a little, and he feels arms around him. Looking up, he sees his mentor.

_Well this is awkward._

**_No, its fucking pathetic. I mean, c'mon-toddlers do this shit. Not superheroes._ **

_Can you, please, shut up for just one fucking second?_

The boy tenderly lifts himself off of Tony's lap, and steps over his aunt's legs.

He stops, and looks back at the two of them. They seemed so empty without him.

**_Don't flatter yourself._ **

Peter checks his phone to see that it's already noon.

_So much for breakfast._

Stretching, the boy fishes his sketchbook and some pencils out of his bag and leaves a note.

 _"Calm down Mr Stark, I'm just outside the window.",_ it says. 

For the next forty-five minutes or so, Peter is at peace. He tries to draw a portrait of Tony from memory, but it actually ends up looking like that dude he met earlier...Harley.

_Weird._

He jolts and watches his pencil sharpener clatter to the street below, as he picks up panicked gasping from inside and not a minute later, Tony opens the squeaky window.

"Hey ki-what in the fuck are you doing?" Peter was sitting on the wall of the building.

"Sketching." Tony's wide eyes return to normal, and he shrugs.

"Okay, well-"

"Can we go to shake shack?"

"Umm sure?"

"Yay."

**_Oh yes-more food, that's definitely what we need. You should be a dietician._ **

_Fuck you._

Peter hops from his perch to the window ledge and climbs in, nearly plummeting to his death in the meantime.

"Holy shit-be more careful next time, jesus...almost gave me a heart attack."

The spider chuckles.

"You know you love me." He punches the man's arm as he tosses his sketchpad onto his twin bed, and Tony groans from behind him.

The three of them climb into the man's car and head to the nearest shake shack, where it took the combined effort of both Tony and May to get him to eat a sandwich instead of just a milkshake. Peter had hoped that in going to a restaurant dedicated to milkshakes, he'd get away with having just that, but Tony caught on. After, they drove to Midtown High to pick up any of the work Peter needed to make up before his return to school the following week, and the middle-aged woman at the front desk said that she couldn't help them. May argued with her while Tony and Peter waited in the car, but once the billionaire strode into her office, she nodded and came back in less than a minute with a red folder and a fresh coat of lipstick to match.

"Here's all the work Mr. Parker will need to have completed by Monday, plus additional study material for what he's missed." Tony reaches his hand across the desk for a shake. "Pleasure meeting you, sir."

The woman smiled to reveal some terrible dentition, the alarming scarlet of her wrinkled lips making her appearance look like something out of a psychological horror movie about a creepy 50s nuclear family.

Tony smiles uncomfortably.

Back in the little blue corvette headed for Peter's apartment, the teen squirms in his seat.

"So let me get this straight-you went out of your way just to give me extra work?"

_You gotta be fucking kidding me._

"Pete, you've been absent for a while. Besides-you and I both know that you know that I know that you already know all of this stuff."

"That may be the case, but you know that I know that if you were in my position, you'd be equally-if not more pissed off, y'know?"

"Well-"

"Just shut up, the both of you. Goddamn." May shakes her head with a small smile.

"What?" They both say in unison, and she laughs out loud.

"You guys are absolutely ridiculous."

Tony grins and winks at Peter in the rear-view mirror.

_God, he's such a dad._

**_Yeah-but not to you, loser._ **

_Yeah yeah, I know._

**_Do you?_ **

_No. But it would seem he doesn't either._

**_Touché._ **

They pull up to the curb, and Peter springs out of the car first, holding the door for his aunt.

She smiles. "Thank you, sir Parker." He beams.

**_Idiot._ **

_...aaaand it's gone._

Gloomy-faced, the teen shuts May's door and bids Tony goodbye.

Once inside, Peter dashes to his room.

"Honey, where are you going? You have homework..."

"I know, May, but there's a robbery on sixth and I gotta go," he lies.

"Okay...but be safe!"

Peter is halfway out the window when his aunt runs into his room with a big metal water bottle.

"Here, take this. Gotta stay hydrated." The spider grabs the clunky bottle awkwardly.

"Umm thanks, but May how the hell am I gonna..."

"Take the damn water, Peter."

"Okay, okay."

"Love you!"

"Yeah, you too May."

The boy swings in the direction of 6th street to the nonexistent robbery; May is watching from the window. Once he's out of sight, the teen stops on a nearby roof. Sighing, he unscrews the lid and gulps down some water, and dumps the rest out onto the streets below, hiding away from the edge as it hits someone on the head who angrily calls up to the window washer, who starts screaming angrily in spanish.

_Lol, poor guys...I'm sorry._

**_Nice job, dipshit. Really, quality superhero material._ **

Peter peers down at the small puddle of water thirty stories below him, soaking into the concrete.

**_That could be you..._ **

_Not right now, dude._

**_You can't keep putting this off._ **

_Actually, I can._

So the rest of the evening proceeds as per usual-muggings, assaults, two armed robberies and a hostage situation. Peter always had to be careful with those-one wrong move, and he could be responsible for numerous deaths. Usually, it only required a well-aimed web and some momentum to take care of things, but he knew it could get really messy, really fast.

After taking a crowbar to the ribs and a bullet in his gut, the teen was lounging atop the Brooklyn bridge, eating his pain in the form of a donut. He'd given the clerk at the convenience store the emergency $100 he kept in his boot and grabbed donuts and bandages. The man tried to get the spider's autograph, but shut up when Karen threatened to talk to his manager. Peter couldn't stop laughing in the haze of delirium.

"Karen, time?"

"Five thirty-six in the evening. Your physical condition is worsening dramatically-would you like me to contact Mister Stark?"

"No, no. Don't wanna bug him, he's prob'ly busy."

Pain radiated from his entire core, and with every breath, he felt like he was being stabbed.

"Y'know, one of these days Imma end up poking a hole in my lung," he muses to himself, watching his torso slowly bleed through the crude dressing that wrapped round his waist, just south of his ribs. They made a soft crunch if he breathed too deeply.

**_I certainly hope so._ **

"Which is exactly why you need medical attention. Now."

"Karen, please shut up. I'm fine. Can you gimme some more painkillers?"

_Why do I sound drunk?_

**_Why aren't you?_ **

"Nope, we're out." Peter rolls his eyes and checks under the small panel on his left arm. Sure enough, all the pills were gone.

"Okay...lidocaine gel?"

"Already on it."

Immediately, the teen feels a very faint, cool, tingling sensation, but it doesn't last longer than five minutes.

"Well that didn't work."

"Peter, you're in a skintight unitard, not a bulky, metal supersuit. There's only so much medical supplies I can fit in here."

"Jesus, you sound like Tony."

"If you call him, you'll hear him for real..."

"No, Karen."

The boy sighs, his voice slurring.

"I don'need him. I'm just fine on my own. Just me and the sun..."

He makes a grand gesture toward the setting orb on the horizon.

_Dude I feel like spongebob in that imagination meme_

"Peter, please go home. I can't make you, but I will contact your father if you don't."

_My father?_

"Nah, Imma stay here for awhile."

The spider leans forward and replaces his clingy mask with the EDITH glasses, dangling his feet over the edge.

He watches the dark water churn beneath his feet, crashing angrily against the pylons of the bridge.

**_Peaceful, isn't it?_ **

_Yeah. My stomach hurts._

**_I'm sure the cold water would help with that._ **

_No, stop it. Just be quiet, I wanna be alone._

**_It's quiet underwater._ **

_Yeah, probably._

"Bubbles, so many bubbles...it's beautiful, Karen," He yawns, staring at the swirling depths of the East Channel below.

"Yes-and deadly."

"Kinda like spiders. Well, not all spiders. I mean some of them are perfectly harmless, but-"

"Incoming call from Tony Stark..."

_Shit._

**_Nice, dude._ **

_Shut up._

**_He's probably spending time with his real family. Just because we're miserable doesn't mean we have the right to inflict our misery on everyone else._ **

_Yeah, I guess you're right..._

**_Aren't I always?_ **

"Hey kid, where you been?"

"Hmm?"

"May's been calling you, but she says you left your phone at home again. Which, I thought was odd, considering it should patch into your suit, which means either you aren't wearing the mask, or you've been avoiding her on purpose."'

"I dunno whatcha mean."

"Pete, are you okay? Your speech is slurring."

"Yep. M'great."

"Have you been drinking??"

"No, M'just tired."

Peter hears a sigh on the other end.

"Okay, well, aunt hottie wants you back home pronto. What have you been doing? There can't possibly be that many stranded kittens."

"Doing homework."

"On top of the Brooklyn Bridge?"

_Fuck._

"It's got a nice view."

"You left your homework folder in my car."

"Did I? Mmm."

Peter's head lolls back, and he sees the stars emerging.

"The stars 're so pretty. I think I can see H'rley's face up there..."

"Harley? The intern? Listen, bud-not right now, Morgan. I gotta help Pete-"

**_Told ya so._ **

_Maybe you were right about the water._

"Kid? Kid! Stay with me, bud."

"Can you see him, Mister St'rk?"

The boy lets his body fall back with a thud, and regrets it instantly.

"Aargh! Owww..." Pain throbs through his body.

_Kinda like one of those deep sea jellyfish with the lights that go blink_

_Blink_

"What? Pete, there aren't any jellyfish. You're seeing things. Also, what in the hell was that? Your vitals are all over the place."

_I said that out loud?_

**_Just let yourself fall, you sick bastard. You've done enough._ **

_\-----"I think you've done enough!"-------_

_No, I don't wanna go there._

**_Then maybe you shouldn't have been such a fuckup._ **

"Underoos, you there? I'm on my way." Peter can hear loud mechanical noises on the other end, and he sees a pinprick of blue light in the distance.

"...yeah Pep, I know, but it's urgent. No, I don't have time to eat! It's Peter-I gotta go."

**_Wow. You're lucky he still gives a shit._ **

_Well, humans are sentimental creatures._

TRIGGER WARNING until the end of the chapter.

**_The poor dude has enough to deal with already. You've broken down in front of him, you nearly died in front of him, and he helped you. But it's enough. He doesn't want to have to delve into your problems again._ **

_But he loves me. He said so._

**_...and you believed him? What was he supposed to say-you were a mess!_ **

_I was..._

**_He can't deal with your shit anymore. You can't constantly be an emotional wreck._ **

_I can't help it!_

**_You have to want to feel better, or stop wasting everyone's time._ **

_Stop, please. I don't want to talk to you about this._

**_Fine. Be miserable, you know it's what you deserve after jeopardising everything._ **

**_Just do so in private. Fake it til you make it._ **

_No, I can't do that again._

**_Then what's keeping you here? What about your life is so wonderful that you would want to continue?_ **

_I can't leave May._

**_Oh for fuck's sake-she's a grown woman; she can take care of herself. Besides, she'll move on. They all will._ **

_Stop it._

**_The best thing you can do for them is leave. They have all these problems, sure, but half of them are YOU._ **

**_YOU are the problem._ **

**_YOU are the reason Stark doesn't sleep at night._ **

_Stop it, please._

**_YOU are the reason May's been taking on extra shifts._ **

_You're hurting me._

**_YOU are the reason why MJ won't move on and date that other guy. She doesn't want to leave you, pathetic creature that you are._ **

_Really?_

**_You spend so much time feeling sorry for yourself, that you never just DO what needs to be done._ **

_No, you're wrong. I'm brilliant-a child prodigy!_

**_And what good is brilliance if you can't pull your head out of your ass and get your shit together?_ **

_I can still help people._

**_You mean spiderman? Anyone can throw a few punches. As soon as you're gone, someone else will take your place. You aren't doing anything with that thick head of yours, so for now, you're more trouble than you're worth._ **

Then it dawned on him.

_You're right._

_The teen heaves his crumpled frame over towards the edge._

**_What are you doing? This is painless._ **

_....oh, right._

**_Dumbass._ **

_Spidey-senses tingling, he looks up to see none other than Iron Man, less than a mile away and closing in fast._

**_Run._ **

**_NOW!_ **

Like a bat out of hell, Peter launched himself off the ledge and swung underneath the bridge, clinging to the concrete base. Water splashes him, and he hisses with pain.

_What am I doing?_

**_We're gonna get out of Tony's hair. For good._ **

_Right, that._

Tony's POV

"Divert all power to boosters."

"Even the shields?"

"Nobody's shooting at me, so yeah, cut the shields."

FRIDAY did not detect the palpable sarcasm that dripped from my voice.

I cut through the air so fast, the suit and my body start to crumple.

"FRI, gimme some support."

Immediately, I feel the suit's rigid structure press against my back.

Within seconds, I'm over the bridge.

"FRI, where is he?" I ask, my boots melting the metal below me.

"He isn't here, sir."

"What do you mean, he isn't here?"

"His location was very weak, but now I can't trace it. He is probably still on the bridge."

Hmmm....

I stop at the very top of the structure, seeing Peter's jacket by the edge.

There's a box of donuts sitting next to it, with two and a half left. They're arranged to spell go.

"Not a chance, kid." Lifting up the hoodie, my stomach does a flip when I see the dark stains on the sweater and metal. "FRI, is that...?"

"Yes, boss."

_Shit._

"How much?"

A horrible silence descends, and all I hear is the dull screech of the cars from below.

"My estimate; he's got only a couple of hours before he bleeds out, and that's assuming he's practicing the emergency protocol from his training."

_Ha. Emergency protocol...._

"Did you factor in-"

"Yes, that's with his healing abilities. You need to find him as soon as possible."

_Jesus, even she sounds concerned._

"Where is he?"

"Sorry boss, still can't track him."

_Wait-_

"FRIDAY, show me the stats on his location within the past few hours."

His mask is programmed to send out a warning signal before it dies.

A chart appears before the man's tired eyes.

_He sat up there for three hours? It's cold!_

Instead of fading a bit, flashing, then dying completely as it naturally would have, it seemed that he jumped off the bridge and disappeared right next to it.

_Almost as if..._

I glance down at the solid structure beneath me.

"Well, I suppose sixteen feet of concrete will do that."

I start moving below the bridge, when FRIDAY shows me the chart again-updated.

"Boss, I've got a lock on his location now. He's about 30 feet away."

"Yeah, I know where he is."

Spotting something brick red peeking out from the maintenance catwalk below the bridge, I speed towards it and retract my mask.

"Hey, kid-oh god."

Instead of Peter, I find his suit. It's neatly folded, topped with a bloodstained note. The armour crawls up my arms and I hold the paper in my hands. He used the stationery I bought him. I glance at it, but then I see the bottom. " _P.S. really sorry I trashed the suit. I know it's worth a lot..."_

My eyes roll back.

Jesus fucking christ, Peter. You're gonna be the death of me.

Tucking the note in the silk pocket of my blazer without reading the rest, (there isn't a second to lose) I begin trying to figure out where the hell my son was, using various security cameras and heat signature tech from my satellite.

_Pete's core temp is much lower than an average human's thanks to the bite, so..._


	12. Shields

Peter's POV

The sun is low on the horizon, and it's getting late. The hoodie and jeans I bought earlier with the donuts and bandages chafe against my skin, rubbed raw from being run down by a car.

I can feel my ribs already starting to fuse back together, and the bullet wound burns.

Meandering through the evening crowd, I'm heading towards Cipriani Downtown, one of Mister Stark's favourites. Under normal circumstances it would take forever to get a table, but the Stark family had connections. Apparently, Tony's maternal grandmother came to the country with Giuseppe Cipriani himself, or in Mr. Stark's words: "We go way back."

I quickly realise that my disheveled appearance will draw far too much attention to me among the elite customers-that is, assuming they'll even let me in. Which, I'm fairly certain they won't.

I walk around to the back of the building, fumbling with the piece of paper in my hand.

I spot a couple of dudes who look like janitors leaned against the wall, and I walk up to the taller one. A good foot and a half taller than me, he's smoking a blunt while talking under his breath to the other dude next to him.

"Hey." I clear my throat a little, desperately trying not to sound like a scared teenager.

He nods in my direction, twirling the burning half-gram stump in his fingers.

"Give this to Francesca, tell her it's for Tony."

"Mackie?”

"No, Stark." The man's eyebrows shoot up.

"What's a hoodrat like you doin' giving Iron Man private notes?"

_Dont. Be. A pussy!_

"It doesn't concern you. Just give her the note, please. It's urgent."

_Really, man? Please? What are you, six?_

**_Right, because being an asshole would be so helpful._ **

"Oh, I think it do. Don'tcha think, homes?" He turns to his companion, who is coughing uncontrollably from the weed. The dude approaches me, standing menacingly over my camparatively miniscule frame.

 _This poor guy..._ I think, as I knock him to the ground swiftly, throwing in some extra moves for pizzaz. He's on his back, and I don't recognise me. Placing my foot over his sternum, I look him square in the eyes.

"If I add approximately half a pound more pressure, your ribs will detach from your sternum. You'll live, but it'll hurt like hell."

He nods, feebly masking his fear.

"Give her. The goddamned. Note." I place the scrap of paper in his jacket pocket, and walk away with eyes on my back. I can hear the guy shaking the gravel off his coat.

"Dickbreath!" He shouts.

**_We wish._ **

_Shut up._

My hood up and head down, I just...walk.

Through the noise and commotion of SoHo, through cute little neighbourhoods with brightly coloured houses, across bridges and over highways.

I end up somewhere in Brooklyn, and see the Brownsville houses not too far in the distance.

_So this is it. The most dangerous place in New York._

I chuckle a little-had it really come to this?

Had I taken advantage of all the opportunities I'd been given, I could be a jetsetting, award-winning fuckboy. And yet, here I am on a Thursday evening, wandering aimlessly around the city with my all-time idol on my tail. God, I miss him. But stronger than longing is my guilt.

_It isn't really fair to do this to the guy._

**_That's assuming he gives a shit._ **

_Of course he gives a shit._

**_He's already replaced you, dumbass!_ **

_Harley. Oh Harley..._

_It's not like that._

**_Well, sometimes doing the right thing isn't always easy. Don't beat yourself up about it-wait, that's right, you don't have to!_ **

My sixth-sense tingles, snaking down my spine. I try my best to ignore it, shivering in the cold autumn breeze. Walking into a dark alley, the feeling grows almost too strong to bear.

_I need to stop trying to save me._   
_I need to just piss off the wrong person._   
_Make myself an example._

"Whaddya think you're doin here, kid?"

I stop, staring at my feet. There are several people surrounding me, but the voice came from behind.

_I bet he planned it like that, the bastard._

Turning slowly around, he snarls at my pale, beaten face.

"I asked you a question, bitch." He steps forward, and I swear to god it's like something from a movie.

"J-just walking. I got-um, lost."

"Did you now?"

"I'll just be leaving now..." I say.

_Pleasedon'tletmegopleasedon'tletmego_

"The hell you are. Grab him."

"No, please, I don't want any trouble," I whine. A sick smile creeps across the man's face.

**_Good, it's working._ **

"You can't just pass through my place without payin'."

He holds his hand out, expecting money as two men from behind grab my shoulders and force me onto my knees.

"I have nothing, I swear."

"What about that pretty ring around your neck?"

_Shit. No. God, no, anything but that._

He reaches forward and snaps the gold chain off. It's the only valuable thing I own-at least, it was, until Tony had the idea that I was deserving of gifts.

"Got anything else?" He holds his hand out once more,

**_It's not enough. Do something stupid._ **

and I spit in it. Anger boils beneath his skin, and he says something to his goons and before I know it, I'm on the ground. Feet batter my ribs, punches are thrown and I hear someone yelling about a wallet as polka dots dance in my vision like a poorly edited 70s music video. Hands are groping my pockets, searching for something but finding only empty denim.

They all stop for a moment, and the leader approaches me, dangling the necklace between his fingers. "So this is it, huh?"

"Yeah, um...I'm sorry."

"That really pisses me off, y'know?" He says, before turning and walking away.

"Have fun."

As soon as I know it, there's some angry bitch in leather twirling a knife. I kick her, and she slowly drives the knife into the outside of my thigh. I howl in pain as she twists the blade inside my flesh, and all I can see is nothing.

Nobody’s POV

A few hours later, Peter wakes up in a dumpster. Everything hurts, but much to his dismay, everything is healing. After lying awake for a few minutes in the hopes that he'd just give up and die, it became clear to him that his body had other ideas. So he heaves his bones out of this smelly pit, and stumbles blindly in the night, eventually coming upon an abandoned house.

He promptly collapses on the floor and breathes, only to find that he can't. Unzipping the bloodsoaked hoodie, he sees his stomach. He's got these bruises all over, and a dark lump where the bullet used to be.

_Shit._

Since his body can't expel the bullet on its own, it's grown around it. A thin layer of skin bulges out over top. With shaking hands, Peter finds a shard of broken glass from the window behind him and cuts open the skin. More blood streams down the sides of his belly, and the teen tries to breathe steadily as his clumsy fingers touch the area around the bullet, feeling for sensation. It burns, and he winces as the swollen skin reddens. Sitting up against a wall, Peter squeezes his eyes shut and probes his fingertips into the wound. It isn't too bad at first, but the teen yelps as his stomach aches, yanking his hand away. Waiting a few seconds for the pain to ebb away, he bites down hard and wrenches the bullet out of his abdomen. His breath fluttering, the spider immediately presses down on it with gauze. His head falls back on the dirty floor, and the endorphins rush through his bloodstream. With a wry chuckle, he holds the piece of glass up to the dim light. It glitters in the moonbeams, sticky and red. Peter figures he has less than an hour before Stark finds him. Aching with pain, the teen drags his weary body to the place his mentor will least expect-back to the Brooklyn Bridge. It was kind of pointless, and he knows it.

But he longs to end things, he always survives.

**_Not this time._ **

**_Never again._**

As he treks through the streets of Brooklyn, Peter can see the bridge in the distance.

_Almost there, come on._

It's all he can do to stay on his feet, and each step sends pain shuddering through his frame.

The teen makes his way to death's door, trudging through the autumn wind.

He begins to realise that he never said goodbye.

But he knew that goodbyes only made it harder for everyone.

As he approaches the bridge, he simply can't find the energy to scale its towers, so he wanders off the footpath at the top and collapses on the edge, his back slumped against steel.

He's in the shadow, and the sun rises before him. He can vaguely hear the sound of thrusters as he takes out the shard of glass, twirling it in his fingers. Unzipping his jacket and exposing his bare chest to the frigid wind, he sees that unsurprisingly, the bullet wound isn't healing.

It isn't pouring blood, but it's still a terrible sight. His pulse weak, the boy let's the hoodie go in the wind, carried away until it finally lands in the water with a splash.

_Now, my turn._

Black and blue, the teen tiredly clenches the shard in his left hand, blood pouring through his fingers. He laughs a little, the bright red liquid dripping into the channel below. With a cry, he digs the object into his wrist and watches with morbid fascination as the wound gapes, round little fat cells and gushing blood. Again and again, he tears himself apart. The thing that disgusts him the most isn't the blood, or his greasy hair, his now exposed tendons and flesh or even the amount of bird shit was plastered to the bridge, but the fact that he was excited.

He'd been waiting for the moment to finally be able to let loose, to "enjoy" himself. He had no regard for safety, or how hideable his forearms would be; it didn't matter. There were no repercussions, no uncomfortable conversations with May or tense appointments with the school counselor. He was done. No pressure, no one to protect.

Not even himself.

The sun on his face now, just over the horizon, Peter enjoys the sight of the city.  
His city.

With a sigh, the spider gracefully lunges into the water, only to get hit by something hard and strong mid-drop.

_Fuck._

The man clutches him close, and Peter struggles to get free. "Let! Me! Go!"

The teen struggles to pry the man's fingers away, his super strength crushing the metal of his suit. Pain shudders through his body.

  
"Please, I just wanna go..."

He starts to sob-loud, ugly sobs, and desperately claws at Tony's arms. So the billionaire stops midair, and retracts his helmet.

"Oh Peter..." Tony holds him and they just hover there, crying above New York.  
"I wanna diii-hieeee, please.....just let me die!"  
The broken boy starts banging his head against Tony's suit violently, his scalp bloody.

"Kid..." The look on his face would be enough to break Peter, if he weren't so numb.

The teen looks away. "This-I-I'm doing the right thing, I swear. You just...don't see it yet," he insists. 

"Pete, you can't-don't do this. I mean, May, and what about that annoying kid from school-Ted-"

"It's Ned."

"Right, Ed-anyway, just think for a moment about the impact this will have on the people around you."

Peter stops and thinks, yet he doesn't waver.

"Mister Stark, I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore."

"Wh-what the hell is that supposed to mean?!" He asks, flustered. Peter flinches.

Tony loosens his grip. "'I'm sorry, kid, I just...what do you need? Therapy? A dog? An island? Anything you want, it's yours. I just hate seeing you so unhappy."

The boy breathes in shakily, and blinks the tears away. He hugs the man tight, burying his face in Tony's shoulder. "Oh, Pete." The billionaire runs his fingers through the teen's hair, and kisses his cheek. The two of them hover a few hundred feet over central park, awash in the morning sunlight. Cupping his face, the man looks him in his big, brown eyes and opens his mouth to speak, but Peter cuts him off.

"You won't have to anymore, I'll be happy soon."

"I hope so, wait-what are you-PETER!" The mechanic grasps for his son as the spider falls through the air. Tony's mind flickers with the image of Rhodey falling to the ground.

"Not again, not again..."

The man shoots down to the ground like a bullet, as Peter's limp frame plummets to the earth against the golden and red of the fall trees. It was beautiful, in the most awful way.

Tony strains, ignoring FRIDAY as she urges him to pull up. Red liquid splashes onto the man's helmet, and his heart rate quickens.

 _Come on,_ he thinks.

He's inches away, but he knows it'll be too late.

"Shields!" He cries, grabbing his child and diving to the ground with his arms around him.

They torpedo into the earth, sending chips of concrete flying.

Tony's suit flickers, the blue light warbling. He knocks his head back into the ground and closes his eyes, slowing his breathing. He sees a lady with her dog a few dozen feet away, but she keeps on walking.

Classic New York apathy.

His back aches, but he opens his arms to see Peter missing.

_Shit._

Heaving himself out of the small crater, he surveys the destruction. A small tree had fallen over, and there were chunks of concrete and brick embedded in the trunks of a few of the larger trees. Stumbling towards a curled up shirtless figure, he barely recognises him. He's curled up in a ball, beaten and bruised, with blood leaking from his arms and stomach. Tony bends over and freezes his wounds shut, picks him up bridal style. His pulse is weak, but it's there. Hurriedly, the man launches himself into the air and hurtles away.

"Don't leave me, Pete. You can't leave me." He whimpers, clutching his son.

"Boss, your left boot is about to fail."

"Can you patch it?"

"No, it needs power."

"Okay, give it everything we've got."

Tony's sputtering suit carries the both of them as fast as it can in it's condition-which isn't very fast. The billionaire sniffles.

"Get me Joshua Batterstein." Instantaneously, a man's face appears onscreen.

"Oh, umm...good morning, sir."

"No time for chit chat. It's a code 11, get me the best people you have on call."

He presses on, speeding toward Stark General Hospital.

"Of course. What are we looking at?"

"Multiple broken ribs, possible internal bleeding, massive blood loss and at the very least a concussion."

The man nods, shouting at someone on the other end.

"Okay, we're prepping our best room. He's gonna be okay, Mister Stark."

Mister Stark...Tony winces at the name, hearing it in Peter's voice.

"Okay, what room is it?"

"Thirty-six, floor twenty-two, why?"

"Open the window."

"Um...with all due respect, sir, we can't-"

"Is the floor to the left empty?"

"Yes."

"Meet me there, step away from the window."

A few moments later, Tony is crashing through the floor-to-ceiling pane in the adjacent room.

This isn't the first time he's rushed a hero into one of his hospitals, so every one of them was equipped to handle superhuman-emergencies. And there were a lot of them.

The man carries him shakily to the awaiting gurney.  
They rush him out of the room, and Tony falls to his knees.

Sore, he just sits there among the shattered glass shards.

He doesn't know how long it's been, but he looks up to see Pepper in the doorway.

"Oh, Tony..." She runs forward and wraps her arms around him.

"There's...glass," he mumbles, glancing at his wife's scratched legs.

"It's okay, baby. He's gonna be okay. Just stay with us this time, okay?"

"Mmm." He says, and holds on to Pepper for dear life.

It's the only thing he can think of, and she's the only one who can save him.


	13. Princess Celestia

Peter's POV

The boy's eyes twitch beneath their veiny lids, opening to the bright lights of the hospital.

It's more elegant than any other hospital he'd seen-not that he'd seen many; even as a child he took care of his injuries at home.

_God, I'm getting tired of waking up like this._

He sits up and scoots back against the wall, steadying himself. Once his head is clear, Peter's eyes explore the room. To his left there sat a black leather chair, a familiar blazer draped over its back. The teen tries to stand, only to find that there's a big, heavy cast on his right arm.

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. How am I going to patrol?_

He hobbles over to the chair, falling twice, and slides the coat over his goosebump-covered arms, his broken one folded beneath it. Next to the wingback is a small table with a can of Redbull and a paper cup, printed with the words _Stark Industries_ in burgundy. The teen picks up the aluminum can and swishes it around, figuring there's about two-thirds left. Sighing, he returns to his bed and snuggles down under the thin cotton sheet, sipping the fizzy beverage. Within minutes, he feels his energy levels spiking. He wasn't as cold, and shrugged off the blanket. Taking another swig of soda, the spider leaps to his feet and rubs his hands together excitedly.

_So that's why Mr. Stark drinks this stuff._

It tasted like shit-but, of course, it serves an even better purpose.

_What am I gonna do What am I gonna do..._

Peter paces, smelling his mentor's coat.

His eyes wander over to the computer by his bed, eyes sparking with mischief.

Tony's POV

"Hey handsome," a familiar voice purrs.

_She's not talking to you, obviously._

**_Duh who else would it be, we're fabulous._ **

Tony rolls over on his side to see a glowing Pepper, her chin in her hands.

"Hi." She rolls her eyes, and flops down with her head rested on stomach, fiddling with the hem of her negligee.

"Seriously, I carry you out of the hospital and wake you up with breakfast, and that's all I get?"

**_Ungrateful bastard._ **

_Food? Where?? This bitch empty._

"Wh-what did you want me to say?" His hands flail, then rest in his lap, running his fingers through her hair. Pepper hops out of bed and starts pouring tea into two elaborately decorated cups.

"I don't know, 'good morning beautiful', a kiss, maybe some flowers-" She hands Tony a cup and sits back against the elegantly carved headboard next to him. "In fact, I wouldn't even mind 'my lady'' from time to time." The woman smiles and sips her brew.

"Y'know, I can do a lot of things-like, a LOT, but I cannot, however, order you flowers in my sleep." She grins. "Also-how did you carry me? I mean, that's like, a hundred and eighty-"

"Ninety-one, hundred and ninety-one," she corrects.

"Okay, fine, whatever, just pure, solid muscle-how did you..?" She shoots him a look.

"The suit."

"W-you wore my suit?" He turns his shoulders to face her, frowning in mock anger.

"No, asshole, I wore my suit."

"...?"

"The one you made me??"

"Oh, right. That."

She laughs, punching him in the arm, sending half a cup of tea flying on the sheets.

"Oo-" He tries to wipe it off with his shirt, only making the both of them giggle more.

Tony feels like he did on his honeymoon. His wife gets up and gets two plates and silverware, handing one to Tony. "Here. At least my omelettes aren't burnt..."

"That's cheating. That's not fair-you didn't make it!" He says, through a mouthful of eggs.

"Hey FRIDAY, Ella Fitzgerald."

"Really? Jazz in the morning?" Pepper cocks her head.

Tony grins. "Nevermind, make that Led Zeppeli-"

"No no no, it's fine!" She says, hurriedly.

He chuckles, and Pepper rests her head against his arm, wiggling uncomfortably against the metal. Without warning, a silk pillow pops out like an airbag against her cheek, with the words "Proof that Tony Stark Has a Heart" embroidered on the corner in red.

"What the fu-Anthony Edward Stark, you did not!" She grins, and Tony giggles like a teenager.

Everything seems so...perfect. The rosy sunlight filters through the massive silk curtains, billowing in the wind.

So the couple lay in bed for another half hour or so, until FRIDAY interrupts.

"Boss, incoming call from Joshua Batterstein."

Confusion clouds his face, and then it dawns on him.

"Oh my god, Peter." His hands are clammy, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Pepper watched as his face fell, and kisses her husband's cheek. She picks up the plates and gives him some space. She knows that's what he'll need-that is, to a certain extent. Pepper knew all to well what happens when you leave Tony Stark to his own devices for too long.

"Yeah FRI, I'll take it." The man snaps on his new EDITH glasses and swings open the doors to the balcony. "How is he?"

"Good morning sir, uh-he's okay, he's fine-great, actually.."

"Good, good. How's the arm?"

"Well, considering he snapped it,"

Tony winces.

"he needs to keep the cast on for another few weeks at the very least."

"Hm. Okay. When can I pick him up?"

"Well, now would be great. He's very...active."

Tony smiles wryly.

"Alright, I'm on my way."

The billionaire rests his palms on the railing of the balcony, and looks down at the busy New York City streets. Warm arms wrap around his middle, and a chin settles on his shoulder.

"He ok?" She asks.

"Yep. Yeah, he's fine. He'll be...fine." She kisses him, and slaps his ass.

"Ow!"

"C'mon lazybones, go get him."

Tony frowns at the hospital in the distance, trying to ignore that fact that when Peter wasn't there, when he didn't have to worry about the kid, he was happy. Happier than he'd been in a long time. But he wasn't complete, he wasn't whole.

Peter's POV

The teen types furiously, his hands flying at an almost inhuman speed.

"I almost...." He mutters.

"Ah-ha!" The spider cries, triumphantly, as music blasts through the intercoms

_I did it._

_OHMYGOD, I DID IT!_

Peter Parker has successfully rick-rolled the entire building. He can hear shouting from outside, and he quickly clears his computer screen as the door opens. A petite, round woman with streaky highlights waddles into his room with a cup of water.

"Good morning, Mr. Parker." She smiles, handing him the paper cup.

"Make sure you stay hydrated." The nurse walks over to unhook him from the IV, but stops when she sees that he's already done that. Everything is neatly organised, and Peter is practically buzzing. Awkwardly, the woman clasps her hands together and smiles down at him. It was an odd sort of smile-he couldn't quite tell if it was motherly in nature, or more of a Hansel-and-Gretel-witch smile.

"Well, Mister Stark will be here soon, and you're free to go! Here's your clothing." She plops down the heap of clothes he was wearing before, at which the teen wrinkles his nose. She offers yet another odd look, only this time Peter knows it's saying 'you lucky little brat'. The nurse promptly trots out of his room, shutting the door a little too hard.

With a grin, the teen turns back to his computer.

About ten minutes later, Tony is about to open the door. Peter watches from the security feed, and the second he crosses the threshold, Back in Black (ACDC) can hardly be heard.

_Fuck. I forgot the guitar started eight beats in..._

**_Great job, asshat._ **

_There's always next time..._

**_What, you wanna shove the dude back outside and call for a retake?_ **

Meanwhile, Tony and Harley walk through the big glass doors of the hospital, and are greeted by a frantic Batterstein.

"I-sir, we don't know who's doing it, but, well, you're the tech expert-I mean, more than that, you're you, so-"

"What?" Tony was growing noticeably impatient. As if on cue (maybe 'cause it was, considering Peter was watching and this is a work of fiction), the opening guitar riff of Back in Black whines through the intercom speakers, and both of them can hear shouting, except for one exquisitely dressed 80 year-old woman in the waiting room who was moshing to the beat with her reluctant husband.

"I am so sorry, but, well, sir, we don't know who's doing this, or how to stop them. I.T. has tried to kick them out of the system multiple times, but the hacker just keeps finding back doors."

"It's okay, I know what's going on." Batterstein seemed doubtful.

"That's very kind of you, thank you for your time. Your errr...the patient is waiting."

"Got it."

Harley and Tony step into the elevator, Harley weighed down by shopping bags.

Peter's POV

Peter hears a knock on the door and jumps, figuring he has about a 1.8 seconds before the nurse asks to come in, 2.5 seconds before she knocks again and 5 until she comes in anyway.

Much to his surprise, Tony and Harley walk in.

"Hey underoos." Peter freezes, his lefthand fingers still hovering over the keyboard.

_That was...faster than expected._

The teen clears his throat.

"Uh...that's a...fast elevator!" He says cheerfully.

"Mhmm. I don't use the main elevator." Peter nods, and frowns as Harley drops a few loaded shopping bags on the ground.

"Anyway, as much as you know I love this band, could you cut the music?"

"The what?"

Tony gives him a look.

"Okay, okay."

Peter hurriedly turns it off, and shuts down the computer.

"I erm...made a few modifications." He says.

"Yeah, I can see that." Tony runs his hands over the smooth computer, looking down at the gutted circuitry that was tossed under his bed.

"Alright, if you're up to it-which I assume you are-why don't you go get dressed, and then we'll grab a bite."

"Okay." Peter hops gingerly off the bed and grabs the bundle of tattered clothing, headed to the bathroom. Tony puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Kid, you're not seriously going to wear that, are you?"

"I didn't bring any other-oh." He says, seeing the shopping bags.

"Mister Stark, you really didn't have to."

"Oh, but I did!" He grins, gesturing toward the bags Harley was putting on his bed.

Peter slowly crosses the room and peers inside.

"I was going to grab your clothes from home, but I totally forgot, so we did some last minute shopping. Sorry about the quality-I do hate malls. Most of it's just cheap stuff, but I figured it would be better than...that." The last word holds a special sort of repugnance, as Tony takes the soiled clothes in Peter's hands and promptly dumps them in the trash.

"Dude....." He breathes, lifting up an ornate jacket. Tony rolls his eyes.

"As I said, it's not great quality. Sorry about that."

Peter gathers an outfit, then pauses.

"Um..did you bring any underwear?"

Harley grins devilishly and pulls out a pack of walmart My Little Pony underwear.

"Seriously?"

Tony cackles.

"Hey, we're bronies now!" The intern says, pulling the waist of his zipoffs out a little to reveal pink Twilight Sparkle briefs. "Don't worry-they're surprisingly soft."

Peter rolls his eyes, taking a pair of Princess Celestias.

"Oh well, if I'm going to be a girlish sentient pony, I might as well be a royal one," he smirks.

The teen awkwardly carries the clothing to the bathroom in his left hand, dropping it in the meantime. "Oh, do you need any....help, or something?" Peter's eyes widen.

_Yes, yes yes...._

_Yum...._

"I'm sure he's just fine," Tony reassures.

"Yeah, of course, I just..." The intern nods toward his cast.

"Oh, I'm fine." The spider grins, and Harley catches a flash of mischief.

 _Of course he doesn't need help getting dressed, you weirdo!_ He thinks.

Once Peter was dressed, the three of them headed out to the car, but Tony stops in the lobby, and reaches inside his jacket.

"Here, it's pretty bright out there." He places EDITH on Peter's nose, and lovingly ruffles his hair.

Someone from behind the counter flashes a picture.

The Rolls is ready and waiting for them, Happy in the driver's. The boys climb into the back, Peter squeezed against a rather cumbersome giant bag. It's tight, and the teen can smell Harley's cologne, his thigh rubbing up against Peter's.

_Who the fuck wears cologne everyday at our age?_

"Sorry, Cap decided to pack us all lunch. I told him he didn't have to, but he insists on being nice at the worst possible times," Tony calls from the front.

Peter reaches inside the bag and opens up a small stainless steel container, grimacing a bit at the vegan chopped salad and fruit.

"We can go somewhere else, though."

"No, it's okay..." Peter says, but Tony can tell his heart isn't in it.

"I mean, he already..."

"Kid, seriously. Personally, I don't care about hurting his feelings-in fact, it's pretty much been a mutual hobby of ours, and there ain't no way in hell I'm eating that."

Peter grins.

"So? Where to?" He asks.

"Well, you boys discuss it amongst yourselves. Although, it's futile, considering if I don't like your decision I'll probably veto it, but...I don't mind letting you think you have freedom."

Eventually they agreed a random cafe, after Happy jokingly threatened to swerve into oncoming traffic after driving around in circles for an hour. His face might have been joking, but his tone sure as hell wasn't. Happy dropped them off at the curb, and Peter asked him if he had any food allergies and what were his thoughts on sweetened coffee beverages? But he just pulled away, not in the mood for Peter's antics.

Harley grabs the door for them, and the spider gets the feeling that the intern felt like a third wheel. Tony immediately heads for a well-hidden table in the corner, avoiding windows and other customers. Peter wonders what it's like having to hide from the world, with obnoxious people constantly taking pictures of you, loving fame and yet wishing you were no one.

The teen had similar feelings after his identity had been revealed. Luckily, he had Pepper to help him clean up that mess, but Tony was a walking, talking mess.

He had a knack for it.

Sitting in the cold, acid-washed chair, Peter finds himself missing the warmth of Harley's leg. Breakfast was delicious, and the waitress asked for a selfie with Tony. Peter saw his face transform. He looked old and exhausted, having had to comply with such demands all his life. But soon his spirits were high again-at least, they seemed to be, as he spent time with two of the very few people whose company he actually enjoyed.

They talked, Tony making fun of Peter's avocado toast. In his defense, it was the most sparse meal he could find-I mean, green mush smeared on whole grain bread, can you get more healthy than that? Peter also learned that Harley was sixteen, and spent some time with Tony right after the whole Chitauri thing in New York. Ovarian cancer had made an orphan of him, and the billionaire had taken him under his wing ever since. The spider noticed how unaffected he appeared by his mother's death, talking about it as if he'd dropped his favourite mug.

"You gonna finish that?" Harley asks. The spider looks down at his half-eaten plate.

"Uhm-no, it's okay, you can have it."

"No, no, I was wondering if you wanted me to get it boxed up for you."

Peter frowns. "I'm...I'm okay."

"Are you sure? You can have some of mine if you don't like it, or something..."

Tony watches with mild amusement from the other side of the table.

"Guys, let it be. Tasha will probably stuff our faces the moment we set foot in the tower."

They agreed. Natasha and Steve had an ongoing feud over health concerns. Ever since the team had started living together, Rogers had taken it upon himself to impose a new health regimen for them. Natasha ate what she wanted-she was in excellent shape, and it's not like anyone was going to stop her. However, it escalated to the point of Thor zipping back to Asgard with the tower's stock of pop tarts, which was punishable by a lecture on nutrition. Alas, he was a product of his time, and had little knowledge of dietician beyond "plants good, sugar bad". Thus, the elder spider had started cooking Russian cuisine. It was heavy food designed for hard-working people, full of...well, most things, except for wheat and fresh fruit.

Steve was enraged, and since then, the two had been struggling to find the balance between the hearty Russian stews and the captain's delicate salads and crisp stir-fries.

Natasha had gained popularity for her delicious pelmini and sweet apple sharlotka, while poor Rogers was practically hated for his disgustingly healthy dishes.

Peter glances over at Harley's pancakes, and regrets his conservative dining choices.

The waitress collects the plates and Tony asks for the bill, but the spider cuts him off.

"Actually, could I get a large black coffee and a..uh-"

"-ham, a ham panini, to go," the man finishes, with a small smile.

_So that's his favourite lunch meat._

The waitress nods eagerly, and after a fair bit of anxious screaming from the kitchen, she reappears in less than a minute. They leave quickly, Tony putting on his clunky Maui Jims, though the skies had clouded over. Harley realises that they're his shield, protecting his humanity from the hoards of people-well, instagram accounts-that would inevitably come running down the sidewalk.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter was cold.

He'd returned to the tower, and was catching up on the homework he'd been avoiding.

"I threw myself off a bridge to get away from you." He says to the folder, his finger pointed accusingly. He knew it wasn't true, but he would do anything to produce his own comedic affect, however meager . It was all he had.

The weight was unbearable.

The teen laughs out loud, realising what a mess he was. So there he sat, speeding through Calculus when the air-conditioning roars to life, blowing forcefully into the room. Peter figured he had less than thirty seconds before the room became frigid and his fingers stiffened up.

Irritated, he rifles through his clothes, old and new. Peter found that he had ruined most of them, except for Mr. Stark's MIT sweatshirt. Not wanting to deplete the billionaire's wardrobe any further (despite how massive it may be), Peter opted to borrow something from the mysterious new intern.

_This is it, this is my chance to get close to him._

**_Jesus, we're trying to fuck the dude, not assassinate him._ **

_Ew. Shut up._

But as soon as he opens the door, Peter understands what the voice meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so upcoming Parley fluff. Sorry I haven't updated in a while, just really busy with schoolwork, and attempting to restrain myself from yeeting out the window or strangling my irritating brother...I am the queen of multitasking :p


	14. Varnor, Hazelnuts and Italian Mobsters

"Oh, I-hi." Peter stutters, the other boy standing bare-chested in the doorway, his shirt in his hand.

"Hey, Peter. What's up?"

_How is he so...chill? That's not fair..._

**_Grow up._ **

"Ummm..."

Harley smiles, understandingly. "Here, come in." He opens the door wider, stepping to the side.

Peter walks in, seeing that his room had the same dimensions as his, but looked so much different. The spider sits down on his bed.

"I've heard a lot about you," the taller boy says, his voice straining a little as he pulls on a faded spiderman shirt. Peter smiles internally.

_That's...kind of adorable._

"All good things, I hope?"

"Are there any bad?" Harley smirks.

_Is it just me or is he trying a little too hard to be suave?_

"Oh, plenty."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You'd be surprised..."

Harley's face begins to show pity.

**_Back at it again, making people feel ba-_ **

_Shut the fuck up. I'm busy._

"Anyway, what's your story?" Peter asks, changing the subject.

Harley plops down on his side, resting his head on his hand and tucking a curly sprig of hair behind his ear. His eyes snap back to Peter's, sending shivers down his back.

"Well," he puffs up his cheeks and blows, looking up at the ceiling as if it would tell him where to start.

"I met Mr. Stark when I was ten, back in 2012. Remember when his house blew up, and he went off the grid?"

Peter nods.

"Well, he was in Tennessee. In my garage. God, he was an asshole," he chuckles.

"But, you know, he was also a mess. Anxiety and PTSD up the wazoo."

Harley stares at the purple paisleys on his sheets thoughtfully.

"I think that's when I first appreciated how brilliant the man was, even without all his fancy toys.

It's interesting. He treats you like a son-something, I'm sure, hasn't escaped your attention. He did so with me as well, but he was much....colder. It was sort of a tough love situation. He showed me his lack of tolerance, and I shielded myself.

Had I not been used to middle-aged men abandoning me, I probably would have been seriously wounded by his absence."

Peter's eyebrows furrow.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I've had a bit of trouble in the father figure department myself," he murmurs.

"That sucks. What happened?"

"Both of them ended up dead. It would seem Tony's a bit of a ticking bomb."

Harley scoots over and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, he's always been that way. The only difference is that since the surgery, at least we know he won't go thermonuclear."

Peter giggles, shivering a little as the older teen removes his hand.

"You good? You seem cold."

"That's kind of why I came-not that I don't find you interesting and incredibly seehhhhImeanintelligent, I was just wondering if I could borrow a jacket or something-I've already stolen all of Mr. Stark's."

Harley nods, and stands up to grab a fleece from the back of his chair.

Peter notices that he's humming I'm Sexy and I Know It.

"Yeah, sure. Here ya go." He drops the soft green sweater in the teen's lap, then jumps enthusiastically back on his bed, the whole mattress wobbling. He's at least six inches closer to him now. Peter notices.

"So? What about you?"

The spider smiles slyly.

"Guess."

"What?"

_What?_

"Guess." The spider rolls onto his stomach and props his chin on his hands.

_Idk, just roll with it. I'm tryna be flirty here...._

"Okayy...." Harley smiles awkwardly, self-conscious.

"Mister Rogers calls you Queens, so going off that, your accent and the restaurants you recommended before lunch, I'd say that's your place of residence, so to speak. You live with your aunt, and you mentioned that two of your father figures have perished, so either you had two gay fathers or your parents died and your uncle-which is probably the case, since your uncle is never present or mentioned, as with your mother. If he were away, you would miss him, you'd talk about him but no, as soon as I brought him up, the corners of your mouth turned down slightly and your eyes glazed over, so my guess is he's dead. You had an abusive adult in your life, but it was recent, not in your early years, so probably your aunt's boyfriend or at least someone around her age and your stature.

"The model of your phone is at least four years old, yet there's only one crack, and just the screen protector-it's one of your few luxury possessions, so you take very good care of it-which must be difficult, considering how clumsy you can be and how dangerous your line of work is."

Harley pauses for breath, and Peter's eyes are wide.

"So you live with your single aunt, you're low on money, but you also don't want to be a bother, you don't like asking for help. Stark could have replaced your phone a thousand times over, as well as your worn shoes that have been superglued together more than once."

Peter seems confused.

(A/N yes, I did totally copy a scene from the first episode of Sherlock and no, I'm not sorry! :p)

"I-there's residue around the sole. Common problem with modern sneakers; they don't make 'em like they used to."

The spider's hands are trembling.

"How did you know about him?"

"The boyfriend?"

Peter nods.

"When I put my hand on your shoulder, you flinched and held your hands up. Naturally, one would turn to face their assailant, but not you. You looked lower, like you expected my face to be level with yours-which it isn't. You don't do that with Pepper, Natasha or M.J., though you seem the tiniest bit on edge whenever Tony approaches you unexpectedly. Thus, my guess is it's a man. A shot in the dark indicates that your suffered at his hands later in life, when your heights would be even or close to it. If you were younger when it happened, you'd have looked up and taken a stance to defend yourself from above."

"Either that, or it's a school bully. Is it a school bully?"

The spider's mouth hangs open a bit.

"Wait-no, it's your aunt, isn't it?"

Silence.

"...Tony?"

"What? No, of course not. His name was...Skip, and uhm...he was crazy good at disguising his true nature. It was over a year before May found out. I was worried he do it to her too, but pissing him off would have put her job in jeopardy, so..."

Harley nods.

"How did you-"

"Observation."

"So that's why you act so distant, why you don't participate as much," the spider questions.

"Precisely."

Peter grins like he did when he first met Iron Man at the expo.

"Jesus fucking christ Harley, you're like, Sherlock. Fuck. That was...awesome. What the hell...."

Harley grins.

"Well, I did enjoy that TV program; it probably influenced me more than I care to admit."

It's quiet for a moment, while Harley studies Peter's face. His thin lips, the little wrinkle in his brow. Then, the spider laughs.

"What?" Harley smiles-and it's that perfect, confused and amused grin that only happens when someone who loves you sees you happy and doesn't know why, but they love it anyway.

"No, it's just...." Peter shakes his head at the ground.

"Just what?" Harley chuckles, moving a little closer.

"You're amazing," he whispers.

"Pardon? I couldn't hear what you sai-"

"You're amazing. Just...astonishing."

An angelic smiles dances across his features, reaching his eyes.

"As are you." Harley grins.

Peter realises that his whole life, it's been about him; how insanely bright he is, how selfless he is, how caring-but now that there's someone else, a rival, a person some much better than him, but in such a different way, the spider is a bit jealous. But more than that, he's in awe.

_Finally, someone who doesn't worship me, but also doesn't hate me. Someone who can see my faults, and likes me anyway. Somebody on my level, somebody who could be a worthy opponent, but too beautiful for me to fight._

Peter doesn't notice, but silent tears of joy cascade down his face like so many leaves falling from the tree in front of his house. A rough thumb wipes his cheek, then lifts his chin.

"I know what you're thinking, but you are incredible in your own way. In ways I can't even begin to compete with-not me, not anyone."

The spider smiles, feels Harley's breath on his cold cheeks.

Their faces grow closer, and as the ghosts of their awkward teenage selves fade fast, their lips collide. The two boys find a rhythm, rocking back and forth. Peter curls up in Harley's lap, the taller boy holding him tight. Neither of them have felt this happy before.

Harley plants kisses along his strong jawline, feeling him flex beneath his lips. Peter moans a little, embarrassed as his cheeks flush red. "Um, I-"

"Shhhh...." Harley says, just inches away, his face hovering over the spider's.

They stay there for a moment, just watching each other live.

Peter's watches Harley's eyes, swirling bluish green.

_They look like oceans-no, like the Great Blue Hole-that underwater sinkhole thing._

_....no, too dark. More like... jade? Maybe that's why so many cheesy romance novels use the 'Soulful Eyes' cliche-there is truly nothing like the human eye._

_I should let him know. Those are some quality eyeballs._

"Those are some quality eyeballs." He blurts out, and watches as Harley grins, and sits back, laughing.

"Dude, what?" He asks.

"Y'know, you'd be surprised how expensive eyeballs are these days. Seriously, they go for like, fifteen hundred a pair on the black market. Not that you should sell them, of course, they're much better in your sockets, but..." Peter stops short, embarrassed.

"You're really weird, you know that?" Harley smiles.

Peter's face falls.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, that was creepy, I-"

"No, no, it's good." Harley smiles, as hope flies back to Peter like Mjolnir to Thor.

"It's a good weird."

"Really?"

"Really. In fact," The older boy scoots closer to the spider and brushes his hair out of his eyes.

"It's the best kind of weird. The most intriguing, clever, unusual and....attractive kind of weird there is."

He grins mischievously.

"Why thank you, Keener. You're not so bad yourself."

"Thanks, Spiderman."

"Anytime."

The space between them shrinks with each syllable, until...

"Boys, boss wants you downstairs."

They jump.

"What in the hell was that?"

"Oh, that's just FRIDAY," Peter says.

"...it's Saturday."

"No, I mean the AI."

Harley nods. "Right."

The two of them head down the stairs a few seconds apart, Harley walking calmly until Peter flips over Harley's head down the staircase.

"Pete, what did I say?" Tony is on the couch with narrowed eyes.

"Right, no stunts in the house."

The spider seems a little ashamed, but only briefly.

"So? What's up?"

He jumps onto the couch.

"I've got a thing upstate, so I'll be gone in half and hou-"

"Can I come with?!"

Tony seems surprised.

"No? It'll be boring. Just...stuff for the company. A meeting, of sorts."

"Oh."

"Why so last minute?" Harley asks, perched on the coffee table.

Tony pauses, a bit flustered.

That's odd.

"One of the er...somebody in management was just hospitalised, and things are a mess. There's a thing tomorrow-and get off my coffee table. Tables are a glasses, not for asses."

Harley hops down dejectedly.

"So you're going to see how he is? That's sweet."  
"He-the guy's an old cantankerous curmudgeon but it's expected of me since he's been with us for decades, so..." he rolls his eyes.

Suddenly, a wild Morgan appears on the armrest.

"Jesus-fuck! Don't do that...." He grumbles.

"That's a bad word, daddy."

He shakes his head and lifts her onto his lap, kissing her forehead.

"Hi."

She pokes his nose, and he sticks his tongue out. Morgan giggles.

Peter gives Harley a look that says "Look how fucking adorable she is! I would do anything for her...."

Harley's face says "I know, right? She missed you, you know."

"Aww."

Tony's face says "What the fuck is wrong with their eyebrows? Just use your goddamn words."

Pepper steps out of the elevator holding a fluffy pink coat.

"Morgan honey, you gotta wear this. It's cold out."

"But Mommyyyyyyyyyyy!"

"Baby it's cold outside...." Tony sings softly and slides the toddler into her furry parka.

Pepper is obviously ticked off by his success.

"Bye Mrs. Stark!" Harley and Peter wave.

"Bye, kids."

Tony gets a hug from Morgan, and a peck on the cheek from Pepper before the elevator doors close in front of them.

"Don't do anything stupid!" Pepper calls.

Tony laughs.

"Babe, that's like, a verbal straight jacket."

A few seconds later, his phone beeps.

Miss Potts: I mean it, Anthony!

He rolls his eyes.

"Where...?" Clint asks from the ceiling fan, still watching the elevator.

"Movies." Natasha says, loudly crunching down on a piece of celery with surprising conviction.

Tony has questions.

Steve made stir fry for dinner, and the team sits at the dining table.

"So, Varnor, how are you adjusting to your new home?" Thor asks, shoving a mammoth piece tofu in his mouth.

"Wha-who? Oh, it's Harley, actually-"

"That's what I said," the thunder god argues, through a mouthful of broccoli.

"Well-anyway, I've really enjoyed staying here with you guys. Hopefully, once I finish school, I can get out of your hair, maybe get a flat."

They continue talking, and Peter looks over his bowl at the older teen.

His skin was artfully draped across his bones, like a sculpture. It almost seemed as if someone had gently laid it over his features, like a mother tucking her child into bed.

So the spider fought his way through almost an entire bowl of food, and sprung up to start the TV.

"So, what's it gonna be?"

"The Princess Brid-Kill Bill!"

"NO, Bambi!"

"Seriously dude? Fast and Furio-S H A R K N A D O-no, Thor, you cannot make it rain sharks again!"

Everyone starts screaming at once, so Peter just turns on The Godfather and hops on the couch.

"Come on, losers. It's starting."

"What? Pete, we've already seen this like, a million times..."

"Don't be stupid Rogers, everyone has. That's why it's a classic."

"THERE ARE NO SHARKS!"

"Y'know what's a classic?"

"Ugh, not again...."

"Me. I'm a freaking classic. And far more entertaining than Al Pacino."

"I swear to god, Barton-"

"FEAR NOT MORTALS, I SHALL MAKE BIRDSHARKS!"

"ThorPutTheFuckingHammerDownBeforeYouBreakSomethingYouDumbass!"

"Language!"

"Excuse me? You talking to me, asshole? This ain't daycare."

"There are children here."

"Yeah, I can see that." Sam gestures toward Steve, who rolls his eyes.

"I am not a child."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"Am. Not!"

"Yeah, you totally ar-"

"Трахни это, я получаю выпить. Ванда?"

"Yep, coming, Tasha." Wanda grabs her purse and jogs to the elevator.

Nat presses a few buttons on the panel.

"Boys, you coming? We're getting drinks with or without you."

"Preferably without," Wanda adds. Natasha gives her a sly smile.

Once Wanda sees Thor heading down with them, she levitates Tony's card from the drawer in the kitchen.

"Good idea. We're gonna need it if he's coming."

"Why thank you, 'Miss Rushman'."

"Of course, сударыня."

Meanwhile, Peter is curled up on the couch with his hands around his ears, his pulse throbbing through is head.

_Like a drumbeat-Jumanji-the drums from Doctor Who-speaking of Doctor Who, it's becoming more and more realistic-aliensssss-remember when that girl from Alien went an-_

**_Go home, you're drunk._ **

_Fuck you._

Suddenly, the spider feels rough hands over his wrists, removing his clammy fists.

"Hey, you okay?" Harley asks, peering through a delightfully bouncy curtain of curls.

_But how can they be in a curtain like that?-Many things are curtains that one wouldn't normally consider to be curtain material-what the hell are you on about?-curtains.-yeah, well, no shit-speaking of which, did you know that in the Victorian era, people living above the streets would pour raw sewage onto the heads of unsuspecting passersby-_

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. It's just...loud."

"Here?"

"Everywhere."

Harley nods, even though he doesn't understand.

The only one left is Bruce, cleaning the dishes off.

Peter gets up and grabs spoons and a tub of ice cream out of the freezer.

"Wait-where is everybody?"

"They went out for drinks."

"They did what? A group of irresponsible, high profile superhumans are getting shitfaced? Isn't that like...."

"A recipe for disaster? Totally." Bruce puts the last bowl in the dishwasher and closes it with a thump, drying his hands on a soy sauce covered towel.

"Well, if we wake up and New York is shot to hell, at least this time it won't be my fault."

Peter chuckles, but the scientist still looks glum as he shuffles away.

"Hey, man, it was never your fault. You get that, right? We all have parts of ourselves we can't control. Yours just happens to be especially dangerous, and that's okay."

Bruce stops, and keeps walking.

 _He knows,_ Peter thinks.

_He just doesn't want to._

_I know the feeling._

The teen ambles back to the couch, hopping over the back of the velvet sofa and bouncing next to Harley. He clicks the remote and hands him a spoon.

"Stark Raving Hazelnuts?" Harley makes a face.

"What, you don't like it?"

"No, it's okay...just not my favourite. We wouldn't happen to have anything else...?"

"Nope," Peter grins.

"Tony's got a warehouse full of this stuff." Harley laughs and eats it anyway, lest he make his....friend feel guilty.

And so there they sat, until Peter had demolished most of the container and Vito Corleone had gotten shot. The spider was cold now, shaking visibly and Harley goes to get him a blanket.

"You really don't have to do that, I'm okay. I'll just zip up my sweater."

"It's fine, I'm cold too."

He wasn't.

Tossing Peter the biggest, fluffiest blanket either of them had ever seen, Harley kicks his shoes off and snuggles down next to the spider.

"Better now?"

Peter grins, his eyes closed.

"Mhmm." The boy nods.

"Alright."

As the movie progresses, the spiderling loses consciousness, slumping against Harley's shoulder, who in turn tries his hardest not to move. He realises how stressful it is to have to stay perfectly still, but he isn't annoyed in the slightest. It's worth it to see Peter at peace, asleep. Anything is worth it. But the movie stirs up bad memories, and it's all Harley can do not to break the TV.

 _They can't know,_ he thinks.

Not ever.


	15. Paisleys

Harley's POV

It's three am and I'm alive.

So is Peter, thank god.

Probably more alive than he's ever been.

I don't even have to know him like Stark does to see that.

He rolls around like a child in my arms, and I contemplate how repulsive it is that I see him as both a boyfriend and a child.

_What is this, Alabama?_

Looking at his long lashes and soft cheeks quiets everything, hush settling over our minds and bodies.

How can someone so flawless be so damaged?

Anger rolls through me like thunder, and only intensifies when I realise that I can't protect him.

I can't fix him, I can't rewrite his code or reboot his mind.

I can't go after whoever's hurting him, I can't avenge him.

Because that person is himself.

While Skip was another thing entirely-apparently, he was injured in a "freak" accident last year when a rogue Tesla self-driving vehicle crashed, dousing him in hazardous chemicals from the containers it was transporting. He died slowly and painfully over the course of the next eight months. Skip was reported to have requested a medically-induced assisted suicide (which is a thing), but somehow, it never happened. Tesla motors had been acquired by Stark Industries less than a month beforehand for a ridiculous sum of money, especially considering the company was nearly bankrupt.

He knew.

The crazy son of a bitch knew, and he made Skip pay.

Good for him.

The clock on the wall ticks.

And ticks.

I sigh, running my hand through my hair. The air is molasses and I feel like a mosquito trapped in tree sap.

Maybe they'll find my remains millions of years from now.

Maybe I'll be important. Appreciated.

You're making a lot of assumptions.

I know.

My watch reads 3:12. It was a Jaeger-one Tony had bought me after my sister's was crushed in Miami. In retrospect, I probably should have given it to her.

But I mean, come on. She was six. No six year old would be able to appreciate or take care of it-hell, I probably don't.

I run my fingers over the white gold links.

I need to clean this thing.

My back aches, and I remember that the other avengers would probably be back soon.

Drunk people are loud and Peter is asleep, so I carry him up the staircase to his room.

Wait-my room. Take him to my room. It's more romantic...

Weirdo.

He's a little too light, despite being pure muscle.

At the door I struggle to open it with my hand under his knees, pausing when he stirs.

Once we're inside, I lay him gently on the bed and pull off my shirt. It isn't that cold, but he's shivering so I put my jacket back on his shoulders. His head lolls to the side a little, and it's absolutely adorable. I pull his shoes and socks off, careful not to wake him.

I run to the bathroom to take a piss, but my reflection is...strange. Whole.

Dashingly handsome of course, but...not as empty. Like Pam in season 1 of The Office vs. season 8. I run my fingertips along my cheeks; my skin is warm to the touch.

Weird.

I brush my teeth and hop back into bed next to Peter.

It's 3:51, and he snuggles up to me.

About seven minutes later, I hear shouting and glass shattering.

"So there I was, barbecue sauce on my titties-"

"NO WAY!"

There's manic laughter, like a blend between a monkey and the Joker.

"Ooooh, can I have a Capri Sun?"

"No-hah! They're alllllll mine!"

"Put the arrows down, Birdman."

"Wanda, you should probably sit down."

"I can handle my *hic* liquooour. I am stronk Sokovian woman."

"I'm sure you are. Here, have a pillow. Let me get you something to eat."

"Mmmmm wanna eat you, spider lady. Hahaaaaaa."

"Sure-when you're sober."

So that's a thing.

Nawanda? No, sounds too Wakandan...

Wandasha?

Maximova?

Wantasha...

Wantasha!

I giggle a little, early morning delirium settling in.

That always happens; it's so weird. You stay up past one, and you're just pure energy.

It's literally a high.

I wonder if it actually is a high-chemically, that is.

Peter shuffles a little, and Thor can be heard exclaming in frustration about the lack of beer in the fridge.

Dear god, will they ever shut up?

I hear a faint whimper and see Peter sitting up next to me.

"Wh-what're you doing?"

"Nothing. The rest of the team got back-absolutely shitfaced, I'm not even sure it's safe out there."

He chuckles.

"I can't sleep now."

"I know."

"You're not sleeping.."

"No, no I'm not."

He cocks his head like a puppy.

"Why not?"

"Distracted."

"By whom?"

"You."

His face settles.

"Dude, you were watching me sleep?"

I blush, and hear my mother's voice in my head.

Well, you done fucked up, and it's your own fault.

"...kinda..." I mutter. He smiles, surprisingly.

"It-that's actually....sort of endearing."

"Not...creepy?"

"Maybe a little," he laughs.

"Right, well, I'm sorry, I jus-"

"Where am I?"

What the fuck, dude.

"Um...my room."

"Oh." He nods.

"It's nice."

"Yeah, it's...it's nice."

I can't tell if he's angry, or weirded out.

Peter's melancholy frown turns to a wicked grin.

"Y'know what makes it even nicer?"

"Um, I don't kno-" He tackles me on the bed in a passionate kiss, pinning me down.

His lips are on mine and we're one, until I can't breathe.

He gasps, and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. Well, my sleeve.

"You."

I chuckle.

If only that were true.

And so we rolled around, like children in the grass. The lines between my body and his begin to blur, and I shiver when his mouth trails down my stomach.

I can feel our flesh fusing, and Peter forgets his strength. His fingers leave bruises on my back, as he rams himself against me. I feel like I'm being hit by a car from behind, but in a good way.

Is that possible?

Crawling up my spine, his nails are like knives, though I know he's trying to be gentle.

"Hey, could you maybe-gah!-take it easy a bit?"

He stops short and cups my face, then sees the marks on my skin. It isn't that bad, really, but I can almost see his thoughts. I've never felt such pain and pleasure, but I know this'll be hard to cover up in the morning.

"Oh my god, Harley, I'm s-so sorry, I don't-" I hold him softly, but kiss him hard.

"Shh, shh, it's okay. You didn't mean to. It's alright. Besides-I got daddy issues, I know what I'm doing."

"No, I-it's not alright, it's not-I did that! I shouldn't be...I'm sorry."

His jaw flexes as a tear rolls from his eye.

"Pete, please. It's just your super strength, it isn't your fault. Hey-at least you were having a good time, yeah? I mean, I know I was."

I lick my lips in an attempt to diffuse the tension, but he shakes his head.

"But at what price?"

"Hey, this is nothing. Seriously."

I skim my palms across his skin, but he pulls away.

"No-I can't. I don't wanna hurt you..."

"You aren't gonna hurt me, dummy. And even if you do, it's worth it. You're worth it. Always."

His face doesn't show it, but his eyes are smiling.

"I don't believe you." He crosses his arms in mock stubbornness, but I know he still feels guilty.

"Well believe it, bugboy."

"Hey, I'm an arachni-ooh!" He giggles as I slide my hands down his hips.

"Here, let me convince you..."

His back arches, and without context it would look like I was torturing him.

And I was, in the best way possible.

I can taste him; salty yet sweet, like caramel or white chocolate. But all too soon it's over, and the two of us are left panting, sweating.

I roll over on my side and he's in front of me, my hands on his hips as he grinds against me.

We breathe as we struggle,

In and out.

In and out.

Peter cries out, and I kiss his shoulder, sucking on his skin and biting down, almost drawing blood. He shudders and winces, but soon we're dancing again, spinning round the bed and I feel like one of those Cirque Du Soleil acrobats; we're spinning through space by our hearts.

A small, childlike part of me is grossed out.

What am I doing?

When did this become something that....just happens?

But any sliver of doubt is erased when he holds me again, washing over me like water.

He's in me, he's under me, he is me.

And I love it.

I fucking love it.

Nobody's POV

Harley's room was glowing orange, the whole tower bathed in sunlight. Tony had built it that way intentionally, since Pepper preferred sunrise over sunset. "It's the beginning of something," she'd said. So as "rosy-fingered dawn" crept over the shining glass behemoth and transformed it into a beacon, it still struggled to outshine the two entwined figures that lay in a bed with the purple paisley sheets.

Peter had been awake for at least half an hour, but he doesn't want to wake the boy wrapped around him like a shield, so he waits.

And waits.

And tries not to piss himself.

And waits.

And finally, he removes the hairy arm from over his head and slinks off to the bathroom.

Meanwhile, Harley stirs and Peter recalls his night with Tony and May in his apartment.

God he misses his flat, with the mismatched silverware and the closets where he used to hide from Skip on Thursdays.

Flushing the toilet with his foot, the spider rinses his hands and heads back to bed, where Harley is...gone?

_Bro where'd he go._

**_Bitch you scared him off._ **

_Calm tf down he's probably downstairs._

**_Or dead._ **

_Dude..._

Peter sighs and drags his feet to pick up the sheets on the ground.

We need to wash these....

Folding them for now, the teen hears a low, almost clownish voice.

"I've been waiting for you, Peter."

It's probably Harley.

He knows who it is, but his body doesn't.

Survival-mode kicking in, Peter whirls around, ready to beat his assailant with a...pillow?

_Bitch srsly?_

_Just go with it._

_What, you gonna snuggle him to death?_

_I could suffocate him._

_Really? You've got no suit, he's got the element of surprise, he might have Harley_

_We've been over this-he is Harley._

_Yeahbutyoudon'tknowthaaaatttt_

Lo and behold, a familiar face stands before him.

"Whoah, cool it. It's me."

His face reddens and Harley chuckles.

"Do you want to maybe he-ow!"

Peter slaps him with the pillow.

"HarleyFuckingKeener, youScareMeLikeThatAgainAndISweartoHeimdallyou'llbeWishingIt'sApillowInyourface!"

Harley's grin turns smug as the spider pulls him close for a kiss.

Right as it starts to grow stronger, Peter turns away.

"C'mon, I'm hungry."

The older boy frowns.

"Y'know, I could help you with that." He says suggestively.

"You know what I mean, Harley!"

Giggling, the two of them stumble out of his room-

and right into Natasha; arms crossed and eyes narrowed suspiciously.

_Damn, she's that scary using only body language...._

Peter clears his throat.

"Oh, hi Miss Tasha! We were just umm-"

"I was confused about-"

"Harley didn't know how to use-"

"FRIDAY. Tony never showed him."

"Me."

Natasha's left eyebrow nearly soars off her forehead.

"Mhmm."

The two teens look at eachother, then at her for a couple of awkward seconds before Harley randomly bursts into laughter, prompting Peter to slap him on the arm.

"Shhh dude what's so funny-hehe-why are you laughing?"

Harley is actually crying a bit at this point, and the other teen is barely able to resist the chortles breaking through his sealed lips.

**_What in the fuck is so funny?_ **

_Idk. Teehee...._

Natasha is still standing there, growing impatient.

"You two lovebirds finished? Steve made french toast."

"Hahaaa-wait, Steve made WHAT?"

The spy grins.

"Also-lovebirds? We're not..."

"Lovebirds!" Harley finishes.

"We're um..."

"We're brothers?"

Peter throws an arm around Harley's shoulders for added effect, but it sort of backfires when his sleeve gets caught on the door frame.

"Hold on, let me-yeah, I think it's stuck."

Natasha rolls her eyes.

"Brothers? What is this, Alabama?"

Harley's face blanches. 

With that, she heads downstairs, with the new couple trailing behind.

"Okay, shshhh, people are gonna get suspicious."

On the kitchen counter is a heaping-and I mean, HEAPING tower of steaming waffles, which was still growing as Steve stands behind them with half a dozen waffle makers.

Peter eyes him warily.

"Good morning, boys! Help yourselves." He smiles wide, and for a moment Harley feels like he's seen him somewhere before...probably on one of those kitschy 50s advertisements.

"...what's going on? Is this real? Is it a dream?"

"Of course." The soldier says as another waffle iron beeps.

"Harley, pinch me."

"I don't wanna hurt y-"

"Okay fine, I'll pinch you instead."

"Ow!"

"If I kill you, will you just wake up with Leonardo DiCaprio pointing a gun to your head?"

The man's face lights up like a motherfucking Christmas tree.

"I understood that reference!" Steve shouts, dancing a little.

"And no, this isn't something from Inception. I just figured everyone could use a little comfort food after last night's...escapade." He hands the boys plates and gestures toward Wanda, Scott and Clint, who all look terrible. Scott is asleep with his face in the cushions of the couch and his ass in the air, Clint is wearing these huge, Elton John-esque sunglasses and is slowly boring a hole through the table with an arrow, while the witch is peacefully passed out on a chair, still in her party dress from the night before.

"Ah." Harley nods, and the both of them indulge in the massive waffles-of course, not without Steve forcing them to have extra fruit.

They both sit down outside on the deck, overlooking the city and Peter runs back in to grab napkins.

Steve is pouring coffee.

"So? Did you sleep well, last night?"

The spider gulps.

"Umm yeah. Yeah, I slept pretty er...pretty well. You?"

"Same here, I guess. We got home around four."

The teen grabs a couple of linen napkins from the drawer.

"You went with?"

"Yeah, but UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE," he shouts,

"I was a responsible adult. Literally, the only one."

"What about Natasha?"

Steve's eyes widen.

"It was...almost traumatizing. The woman can put away entire bottles of vodka like pez."

He chuckles.

"D'you know, they were doing shots, and at the end there were like, fifteen guys-I mean, huge, Hunks-a-junk passed out on the floor, and she was just sitting there. Unaffected."

His eyes glaze over a little, almost in fear.

"Wow. Okay then."

Steve says nothing more, still staring in horror, so Peter returns to the balcony, pausing a little before he gets there to appreciate the beauty before him.

Harley's wispy hair flies in the breeze, and the sprawling city of New York lay before them like Rose lay in all her bare-skinned glory before Jack, scraping the sky and scooping up the earth.

Peter grabs a napkin and chucks the other at Harley's face, then eagerly bites into a strawberry. Without looking away, he removes the cloth from his forehead and folds it neatly in his lap.

"Harley? You good?

"Mm."

He scans the horizon thoughtfully, and Peter looks as well.

"Y'know, Mister Stark used to say that the view from this deck was his favourite."

Harley's gaze snaps to Peter like a magnet.

"...said that although he'd seen the most beautiful places and people the Earth had to offer, this was the only beauty that left him truly breathless."

Tony's voice echoes through the spider's mind.

"It's infuriating, really. I've enjoyed the most exquisite luxuries, women-sometimes even men, and natural wonders this...lonely rock possesses, nothing-not a damn thing hits me like this stinking, sprawling, dirty and polluted-yet...perfect, city."

He'd shake his head and throw an arm around Peter.

"And one day, it'll all be yours. Shitty gift, I know, but...you'll see."

And the boy would blush, and Tony would laugh, and:

"Alright, enough of this sappy bullshit. Let's go shoot some bad guys, eh?"

The spider smiles-the kind of smile you don't even know you're showing, when you wish your memories and dreams were a reality, and inside you're laughing cynically at the crushing fact that it isn't, not even close.

**_And it probably never will be._ **

_Great, now I'm lost in thought as well._

"He's got a point, you know."

Peter raises an eyebrow to Harley's inquisitive gaze. It was...intense would be an understatement. It was almost like the dude was staring straight through his fucking soul, around the world and back at him again.

Is he wearing contacts?

He's gotta be wearing contacts.

_There's no fucking way his eyes are that vivid._

_I'm calling bullshit._

**_Not everyone is as fake as you._ **

_Okay yeah, but-this is a goddamn mindfuck._

**_Yeah-it's not just your mind he's fucking._ **

Peter blushes.

"Damn kid, get your mind outta the gutter," Wanda randomly blurts from the sofa inside, and Peter's super-hearing sets him on edge.

_Shut uuuuuup._

_YOOOO you guys are totally banging._

_Wanda, kindly get your drunk ass out of my head._

_Rude...._

_Go bother your girlfriend_

_Wait-whatthefuckhowdoyou-okay, FINE. Touché._

"Stark. He's right."

"He usually is." The spider hides his rosy cheeks with a truly gargantuan mug of tea.

"Yeah, but I mean, about this....this place." Harley remarks, gesturing toward, well, everything.

"I don't-I can't really explain it."

"You don't have to," Peter says knowingly.

Suddenly, the spider picks up a beeping noise.

Without warning, he flips off the balcony.


	16. Porcupine

"PETER!"

The teen is clinging to the concrete wall, hundreds of feet above the street.

"It's okay-I'm not gonna like, die or anything."

_**Awwwww, dammit.** _

"God, I wish that was obvious. Fucking hell Pete.....what in the name of Romena Ravenclaw are you doing?"

"One sec...."

Hurriedly, the teen fumbles with the small device latched onto the wall.

Trying to pry it open, Peter slices his thumb as the pod sticks out dozens of tiny, razor-like barbs.

"Shit! Ow."

He shakes his hand and sucks on his finger.

"Oh my god, don't let go!" Harley shouts, but Peter is standing sideways.

"Chill, I got feet."

Harley throws his hands up in frustration and rolls his eyes, almost certain he could see his brain back there.

Peter hears a muffled "This bitch crazy...gonna be the death of me..."

The spider smirks.

"Hey Har, throw me a knife, will ya?"

Nothing.

"WHAT THE FUCK? YOU WANT ME TO THROW A-YOU'RE ON THE SIDE OF A SKYSCRAPER AND YOU'RE ASKING ME TO-WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS WRONG WITH YOU? Shit, I didn't sign up for thi-"

"Keener, gimme the goddamn knife."

"Okay...here, let me hand it to you, I don't want you to get hurt."

"You idiot, you're gonna fall off. Just toss it, I'll catch."

Harley chews on his lip, and Peter is mildly turned on.

"Fine, but if you end up looking like something out of a James Wan movie, I'm not paying for the funeral service."

"Wow, thanks."

"What? I'm poor."

"You and me both, but..."

"Whatever you say, young Stark."

"I am not-shit!"

Harley laughs as the dull blade lands in Peter's hand.

"A little warning next time.....dude what is this?"

"....a knife."

**_No!_ **

_Shuddup, now is not the time to be quoting vines._

The teen wedges the dull butter knife under the little grey device, only for it to snap.

_Of course he would give me a frigging butter knife._

"Thanks, but Imma go borrow a dagger from Nat."

As soon as Peter starts moving, the device beeps rapidly.

"That can't be good. Hey, could you...."

"Yeah."

"Ask her for a vibranium one."

"Got it."

So the spider waits.

_Hmmmm....smells like teen revenge._

"Hey, Miss Romanova, Peter was wondering if he could borrow a knife. Vibranium."

Everyone shakes their heads.

"No, not in his condition." Bruce says.

"It's just a lawsuit waiting to happen. What if he drops it on someone's head?"

"Nat, that's a terrible idea."

The spy shrugs and pulls one out from under her skintight shirt, handing it to Harley.

"Wh-where did that come from?"

"You want it or not?"  
"Oh-yeah, thanks."

"Mhmm."

"Harley, tell him to be careful. It's one of my favourite blades."

Bruce stares at her incredulously.

"More importantly-the kid!"

"Right-him too."

Harley rolls his eyes and walks out, giving the dagger to Peter.

"Thanks, man."

"If you hurt yourself.....um, I'll hurt you back!"

"I look forward to it."

"Jesus, you're impossible."

"You know you love me!"

"Yeah yeah..."

Peter manages to dislodge the thing from the wall, and tucks Natasha's knife into the pocket of his sweater as he crawls back up the wall.

"Hey Harley, I-AARGH!"

The spider screams and falls off the ledge.

"Oh my god, Peter!"

Harley panics, and runs inside before he could see him hit the ground.

"I-Peter, he fell, and-the ground, you have to-please!"

Wanda smacks Nat's arm.

"See! This is why you don't give a child knives."

"Ради бога, он супергерой! Кроме того, он должен был учиться, когда ему было пять лет, как и все остальные."

"Подожди минуту пять лет? Детка, какого черта? Это не нормально!"

"Он не нормальный!"

"Jesus christ..."

Wanda levitates herself out the window, and comes back seconds later with Peter hanging limply in her arms.

Harley's POV

Peter is laying down in the medbay, his hand wrapped painfully around the little grey thing from the wall.

He squints, and holds up his left to shield his eyes.

"Mmm...morning May."

I smile a little, trying not to look at his hand.

If only I had asked for help instead of giving him the knife....

_Dumbass_

He looks around lazily.

"I gave him a little something to help with the pain, but it might make him a little loopy. We don't have long before it wears off."

Bruce leans over Peter's hand with tweezers, and gives me a look that says "He needs you."

So I pull up a chair and sit on the other side of the bed, holding Pete's good hand.

"Hey, beautiful."

He groans, and his eyes are misty.

"Hi, asshole."

I frown.

"I could've handled it m'self."

_Oh, honey..._

He lifts his head groggily and sees his hand, and giggles.

What?

"Peter, what is it?"

He laughs.

"Mmmm....tickles!"

W h a t t h e f u c k .

"Peter, not gonna lie, this is gonna hurt like a bitch." Bruce's eyebrows are furrowed, and I can plainly see that he doesn't want to do this.

But he has to.

Not necessarily-we could always amputate

Dude it's his dominant hand

So?

Just....no.

Peter blinks innocently at Dr. Banner.

"Hm...Doctor Bruce'ner, you neeeever curse. Teehee."

"Yeah, I hope it'll help you understand how serious this is."

He nods at Bruce, then breaks out in laughter again.

"Hahaaaa.....why so serious?"

_Jesus._

"Because it's going to hurt." I try not to sound incredulous.

A lot. I'm so sorry, I....I never should have..."

My voice trembles.

Stop crying. You'll ruin your image.

But it's my faaahaaaaaault

Grow the fuck up.

I clear my throat, and Peter brushes tucks hair behind my ear.

"So pretty," he says, and the sluggishness in his voice has cleared up.

"Likewise."

"Okay boys, time's up. I've removed the device and I'm going to start pulling the spiky things out now, but I fear his system may have already absorbed the medication."

Peter grins, tearing his eyes away from mine.

"I'll be fine-I got a really high pain tolerance."

Too high for your own good.

"Okay, I'm starting now."

There's a dreadful silence as the two of us watch Banner slowly pull the barb out of his flesh.

It gets stuck on the dermis, and I can feel Peter's whole body tense as he squeezes my hand, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

"One down."

Peter and I both exhale, not knowing we were holding our breath.

He giggles nervously. "See? I'm fine."

I just shake my head.

Around thirty agonising minutes later, Bruce takes off his glasses and gets up.

"I'm gonna take a quick break, I can't see anything. Can I get you guys anything?"

"No, I'm good, but get Harley a banana."

"What? Why?"

"You never finished your breakfast."

Neither did you, asshole.

"Yeah, you didn't either."

"Not sure if you noticed, but I'm a little busy here."

I roll my eyes.

Peter's POV

About an hour later, Bruce puts the scalpel and tweezers down.

My hand hurts more than I'd like to admit, but the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind is the fact that I deserve this.

_I deserve this._

_I deserve this._

**_You deserve worse._ **

"Shit."

"What is it?" Harley asks, and I can feel the concern in his voice.

_Concern._

_Concern._

_Concern._

Bruce turns his shoulders to face me, and I know it's bad.

"Listen, bud, there're a couple that are almost through the other side of your hand. We're almost done, but I think you both know what I'm gonna have to do."

Shiiiit. He's gonna have to pull it through.

_**You deserve it, don't be a pussy.** _

I knock my head back.

"Ugh. Do we have to?" I whine, as though he's asking me to do the dishes.

"I'm afraid so. If I pull it out the way it came in, it'll tear you up on the way out, effectively destroying your hand. Even you can't heal from that."

I sigh.

"Okay whatever, do it."

This time, Harley's the one squeezing my hand.

"You okay? I know this must be very hard for you..." My sarcasm is palpable.

"Shut up. I'm just...I don't like seeing you this way."

Good job, you weirded him out.

"Oh. I'm sorry...I mean, if it's too....I don't know, you don't have to stay here-"

His eyes widen.

"What? No, I want to be here for you. Don't be stupid, I'm just...worried about you. I don't want you to be in pain."

Lol.

Adorable.

"Aww..." I chuckle, "I'm afraid I won't be able to satisfy you on that front."

He gives me a sad smile.

"Well...just try, alright?"

Nope.

What were we talking about again?

"Alright Peter, I'm gonna start now. I've applied some of the local anaesthetic and that seems to work, but I'm afraid there isn't much more I can do to make it easier apart from working quickly."

I give him a thumbs up and a stupid grin. I think it came across a little weird.

Harley squeezes my hand, and I feel like I'm starting to lose sensation in a few of my fingers.

I feel an all too familiar biting sensation as Bruce makes a small incision in the back of my hand. The problem is, it's more painful not knowing what's happening and when it's going to happen, but if I look, I feel a little nauseated.

Also I'm lazy and my neck hurts.

My flesh is burning hot, and it feels (and looks) like a chicken kebab, fresh from the grill.

_**I'm hungry.** _

_Ewwwww nvm no I'm not._   
_You fucker, you've ruined kebabs for us._

Suddenly, the spiny barb slides out of my hand a little farther and my back arches with pain.

It's nearly unbearable. I kinda just want to cut my hand off at this point.

_Tony and I could have matching prosthetic robot hands. Twinsies!_

**_Twinsies? What is this, 2016??_ **

_On the bright side, he'd be more inclined to improve the technology if I were using it, therefore improving it for himself as well._

**_Jesus, imagine having a wank with that thing. Damn._ **

_...aaaand now you've ruined it._

Meanwhile, Doctor Banner is ripping yet another spine through my hand. Every time I cry out, he looks like a puppy who accidentally peed on the carpet, so I try to keep my mouth shut.

Y'know the phrase; "bite your tongue'?

Apparently, that actually works.

Unfortunately, my mouth is now bleeding and Harley is losing it.

"No, no, it's fine, I'm fine, I just bit my cheek is all," I manage to choke out.

"Here, let me get you a tissue."

He fucking dabs my mouth with a napkin.

What am I, four?

I glare at him and he gets the message.

A huge surge of pain courses through my whole arm, and I scream.

Really, really loudly.

Oops.

Now both Bruce and Harley look really sad.

This is taking forever.

_**Fuck it.** _

I rip my hand from the table and grab hold of the barb and attempt to rip it out with my left hand, blood pouring from the wound.

"Shit, shitshitshit-what were you thinking? Give it here...."

The barb is still there; it barely budged. I yank my hand back while he opens a packet of sutures.

I look at the bloody mess that used to resemble a right hand, and realise that with how badly it's stuck in there, I'll be here for at least another two hours.

Which means Harley will be here for another two hours.

Steeling my nerves, I grab the pointy thing with my left hand and begin to pull it from my flesh.

I wish I could say this is the most painful thing I've ever felt.

_I wanna go home, I wanna see May, I wanna watch Say Yes to the Dress with her on our couch, I wanna eat her chewy oatmeal raisin cookies, I want my dad. Mister stark please come home don't leave me please just don'tleavemeagainI'msosorr-_

**_Shut up, you foolish child._ **

**_Pull. Harder._ **

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Just...moving things along."

Harley looks at me like I'm fucking insane.

He's probably right.

With strength I didn't know I had, I wrench the barb from my hand. Blood pulses out, and my vision fades in and out. I'm on the ground, I'm shaking.

_Pain._

_Pain._

_Pain._

**_Wake up._ **

I'm on the table again, and I can feel a needle weaving in and out of my skin. Comparatively, this is almost soothing.

Once my hand is sewn up, Bruce tells Harley he's responsible for my safety.

Of course, he chose one of the very few people on this planet who actually gives a damn about me.

_This'll be funnn._

We're heading out the door, Harley with a small satchel of fresh dressings for the coming days and me with-well, nothing, since apparently he seems to think I don't even have the capacity to carry my own fucking bandaids. Bruce pulls a good ole' "Oh, and by the way...", saying that Tony would be home tomorrow to check on me.

Overkill much?

So I drag my feet to the elevator and Harley sends us up to the living room.

"How're you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Liar."

"Yep."

He rolls his eyes.

His beautiful, breathtaking eyes.

Shit, I can't lie to him.

"Guilty."

"Why?" He asks this question as if guilt was completely out of the question.

"Why not?"

Harley glares, and I stubbornly attempt to resist.

"I just need to get back to the daily grind-y'know, school, patrol, my morning macchiato."

"Why?"

"Because the iced caramel macchiato is by far the least ridiculous coffee concoction on Starbucks's ridiculous coffee-concoction menu."

"Not what I meant."

"I know; I just wanted to establish that macchiatos are superior."

He nods, then shrugs.

"I like frappucinos."

"Get out. Now."

He laughs, and I punch him playfully, and I can tell he noticed the way I changed the subject by his sad puppy dog eyes.

_No, smile. Don't be sad._

**_Shit, he's sad. What the fuck did you do?_ **

_Idk._

**_We can help him smile. Just...get some staples, and grab-_ **

_No! What the hell is wrong with you??_

**_I'm just saying, he'd actually be smiling then_ **

_Yeetus yeetus commit self deletus_

**_Yay!_ **

_*facepalm*_

The elevator doors roll open with an odd sort of finality, like they'd been waiting.

Steve and Bucky are snuggled on the couch with Jane Eyre and Nietsche, respectively.

Meanwhile, Wanda is levitating gin into Natasha's mouth in the shape of a black widow spider.

Come on Parker,.

I spread my arms out wide, snaking one around Harley's waist.

"Is it just me, or did this room just get even gayer?"

Everyone looks up, immediately self conscious.

Except for Natasha.

Natasha gives zero fucks, and munches on blini.

Harley shoots me a rather *vague* look that probably means;

WE NEVER FUCKING TALKED ABOUT THIS!

SHUT. UP.

Harley chuckles.

"Yeah-he's still a little high on the pain meds."

Am I? That would explain it.

"Jeez Keener, thanks for the placebo. If it wasn't high then, I definitely am now!"

I grin, a grin that says 'Let's get wasted, let's party-hell, let's blow up New York while we're at it. I feel indestructible, and I don't care that I'm not. In fact, it's what I'm counting on.'

Wanda waves, and hops down on teetering heels to hug me. She's so slim, the hug's not even comforting.

I try really hard not to crush her ribs.

"Hey there, feelin' any better?" Her eyebrows dance a bit, and I can tell she's just a little tipsy.

"Not rea-actually yeah, yeah I'm feeling great."

"Good, good...." She awkwardly turns back to sling herself across Nat's shoulders, like a jacket to keep her warm.

God knows she needed it.

Spontaneity sparking through my veins, I skip to bar and pour a gin and tonic.

Don't ask me how.

I have zero fucking clue what a gin tonic is, but it tasted gross and made my bones feel like they were made of chilled packing peanuts, so it's great.

Natasha doesn't bat an eye, but Rogers does a double take.

Like, he blinked excessively and looked at me twice-shocked expression and everything. He's literally the blinking white guy meme.

"What do you think you're-son, the legal drinking age isn-"

"I know, Steve, I know."

"No! No, you don't know! Here, give me that." He throws his book down on the coffee table and reaches for the glass in my hand.

Natasha rolls her eyes.

"Steve, let him have it," she whines.

"Tasha, are you out of your mind? He's just a kid!"

"Yeah-a kid who's gonna get shitfaced on jungle juice at some random teenager's house as soon as he gets the chance if he doesn't experience this under supervision."

I recoil just a touch at the word "supervision."

Because with the Avengers, it really is super-vision.  
Badum-tssss

"Just leave him be," she argues.

"Wha-no."

Meanwhile, I'm chugging down the rest like a champ, 'til all that's left is a slice of cucumber.

Natasha winks at me, and Steve snatches the glass away.

"Can I have the cucumber?"

He's rinsing the cup off.

"No."

"But it's a vegeta-"

"Absolutely not! Ton-Peter, I..." His face flashes a strange colour, and I realise that I remind him of Tony.

Oh, Tony.

Where is he, anyhow?

"Just, no. The bottle can be dangerous, and I don't want you falling down that rabbit hole too."

Too?

"Too?"

Oh, Dad.

"I-just wait until your father gets home."

And he'll be totally chill, because he's like, the coolest da-

...

_Wait a fucking minute._

_My father._

_My father?_

_My father...（ヅ）_

**_Get over yourself. He just doesn't want to deal with another drunken superhero._ **

So Steve returns to the couch, and it totally feels like one of those moments where Uncle Ben was being really stubborn and responsible and I was acting like a petulant child.

Harley is leaning against the wall brooding, being of no help whatsoever.

_Ben..._

**_Bitch, focus._ **

"Hmm..."

I stare intently at Natasha's copper curls and I'm quiet, calm for just a moment.

It's over. I jump off the marble countertop like a goddamn rabbit.

_Maybe I am a goddamn rabbit._

"Come on. Let's go."

Harley uncrosses his arms and his sad-boi Jon Snow expression turns to an agitated-boi Edward Cullen expression.

"Go where?"

"Clubbing."

I launch myself up the stairs and into my room, where I immediately strip down to my boxers and root through my closet for something a little less...me.


	17. Small, But Not Unimportant

Harley's hand glides over the goosebumps on my bare back.

"You okay? You're acting a little strange."

"Cabin fever."

He nods.

"Pete, you get that you won't be able to get in, right?"

"I have my ways."

I lift up a silk shirt from the bag of new clothes from Mister Stark, and awkwardly slide my hairy-ass legs into a pair of black jeans.

"You're wearing that?" I ask, pushing his chest.

"Well, yeah-I mean-"

"Go. Change." My eyes are fierce, and they get my point across. Despite being shit brown, they're surprisingly useful for conveying what words can't.

He nods, a little scared and drags his heels out the door.

(A/N BTW, we're just going to assume that Peter is 15 (almost 16) and Harley is 17 because...reasons.

I know it's incorrect; don't come at me.

Actually, do. I'm bored.)

I'm in jeans and a blazer, with heeled combat boots because why the fuck not. Moussing my hair in the mirror, I slide the Edith glasses on. My eyes wander to that drawer in my walk in closet that I never opened.

_Yes._

My eyes glaze over the different watches in the velvet lined drawers; I'm bewildered. There's a flashy one, a gold one, a minimalist one, a nanotech one, a dual-function web shooter watch-everything I've never wanted. It's almost nauseating. I run my fingers greedily over the metal clasp of the nanotech one. It's red and blue, and I can see that the spider web designs etched into the metal had to have been hand-carved by Mister Stark. With a sigh and a badass watch, I run my hands through my hair like a total fuckboy (oops) and open my door to see Harley leaning in the doorway.

_Holy shit._

He's wearing a dark purple three-piece with flaming red accents inside the cuffs and lining, his shirt unbuttoned around a necklace.

_HOLY SHIT._

I can feel my cheeks heating up.

_Be cool, be cool..._

"You sure clean up well."

He smiles smugly.

"Likewise."

Harley frowns at my boots, then shrugs.

_Bitch, shut the fuck up. Imma wear what I want._

"Wh-they're just...do you want me to change? I mean, if they make you uncomfortable..."

I'm still an inch or so shorter than him.

"No, no. It's cute, actually." He grins mischievously.

_Yeah, that's what I thought!_

He puts his hand on his hip, and I loop my elbow through his. It's admittedly a little awkward, but I'm grateful for the heels.

I feel a familiar tingling sensation, and I pull away from the door.

"Gimme a second." I run to my desk and scribble a note, bending it to prop it up on the table.

"Really? 'Out collecting silk samples for webshooters'?"

"You got a better idea?"

"Yes, actuall-AAAASHIIIIT."

Before he can finish, I open the window and shoot to the neighbouring building with a web.

The night air is cold against my face, and I realise with a cathartic chuckle that I've never felt the wind because I always wore a mask.

_How._

_Fucking._

_Cliche._

Harley slowly opens his eyes but still clutches my waist. I can barely breathe, but I'm fine.

The look on his face is absolutely adorable, until it scrunches up and he's screaming at something.

I look in the opposite direction.

_Oh look, a wall._

_Hi there!_

My whole body slams into the side of a brownstone and the bricks shater like my phone screen.

I've wrapped the iron spider legs around Harley, and luckily, he's unscathed. I know I'm not.

_Shit._

Hurriedly, I swing us up onto the roof and web up the cracked brick facade. Luckily, these things were built to last.

Back on the roof, my metal legs retract and I tap on the glasses.

"Karen?"

"Yeah?"

"Send them um...how much is that gonna-?"

"Let me take a look.:

I lean over the edge, and Karen surveys the damage.

"I'd say around forty."

_What._

"Are you certain? Only forty do-"

"Thousand. Forty thousand dollars."

_Welp._

"Shit, Karen...dad's gonna kill me..."

I swear, I can hear her smirking.

"Do you want me to write them a check?"

"I can do that?"

"No."

"Oh. Then wh-"

"But I can." She's so fucking smug.

"Great, then do it. I'll deal with Mister Stark later."

"Which account?"

"I have an account?"

"You have four."

No. Way.

"Umm checking account, I guess."

"Got it."

_Am I a rich bitch?_

"Hey Karen, um..what's the uh...I mean, do you know what the balance is?"

"Sixty million, three hundred thousand, thirty-seven dollars and sixty-nine cents."

_HOLYFRACK_

"Holy shit."

Karen chuckles.

"What?"

"Um..that's not enough for chicken nuggets."

"On the contrary. Would you like me to calculate how many boxes of chicken nu-"

"No, it's fine. Lemme take care of Harley."

I turn around, and he is standing with his hands on his hips.

"Are you hurt? Karen, is he hurt?"

"Pete, I'm fine."

_Oh my god, what did I do??_

"Karen?"

"He's fine, Peter. You on the other hand..." She chirps.

Harley unfolds his pocket square and starts wiping my face.

It comes back bloody.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

He almost look angry.

"Bitch, are you serious? Look at yourself."

He pulls out a matte pink compact mirror and holds it in front of my face, but it's too dark too see anything.

"You keep a makeup mirror in your pocket?"

He blushes.

"Do you suddenly look like a tomato because of me, or the makeup?"

"Shut up."

"Ha."

Harley licks his thumb and wipes my face.

"Thanks, mom."

He rolls his eyes.

"Oh right-she's dead."

Harley glares at me.

"Peter, we've talked about this."

I realise that I have absolutely no idea where I'm going.

"Where are we going?"

"Home."

Harley's mouth is in a firm line.

"Oh come on..."

_**Stop whining.** _

_Oh, it's you again._

**_Miss me?_ **

_I can't say that I have._

**_Likewise._ **

"Pete, you're bleeding."

"Not anymore." I wave the pocket square I'd been holding to my brow.

"Seriously, it's just a scratch."

He doesn't waver.

"Listen, dude, I'm going with or without you. You wanna be my chaperone? I don't know about you, but getting shitfaced on my own would be pretty pathetic."

Harley rolls his eyes.

"Fine. How's your hand?"

"Not very handy at the moment. So? Where you do wanna go?"

I pull out my phone, and Siri gives us a list of clubs with the highest ratings since Karen refused to be an accomplice, as she put it.

"It's okay, I know a place." Harley mutters.

He's standing by the edge with his hands in his pockets, and the streetlights shine harshly upon his severely chiseled form. It's only in stripes, making parts of him shine almost white against the muted aubergine and black of his suit so that he reminds me of the Abbey Way crosswalk on that Beatles album cover.

A banner pops up.

Aunt Tasha: where in the fuck are you?

Aunt Tasha: Steve's pissed.

Aunt Tasha: Collecting spider silk? You seriously think he's going to buy that?

Aunt Tasha: Answer me, or else I'm not cutting the crusts off your sandwiches.

Peter: Hey, sorry I had my phone muted. You guys any closer to figuring out what that spiky thing is?

Aunt Tasha: Still working on it. You never answered my question.

Peter: I'm clubbing, okay? Cover for me?

Aunt Tasha: I got u.

Peter: Thank you sooooo much

Aunt Tasha: you owe me. Take care of yourself.

Peter: byeee

Aunt Tasha: I mean it, Peter! Harley, I know you're looking over his shoulder. If anything happens to him, I will kick your bony American ass into the soul realm.

Peter: Love you, I gtg.

Aunt Tasha: AND TURN YOUR FUCKING PHONE ON.

I click my phone off, and Harley's giggling. I love that clicking noise of the screen locking almost as much as his laugh-so satisfying.

Wrapping an arm around his waist, the both of us are swinging through the night.

We land in an alley next to a random building, and I've never felt more relieved. Harley's pretending to be pissed, but we both know it won't last. We sounded like a married couple trying to navigate on a road trip.

"Peter, take a right the-right there!"

"Where?"

"Fuck, you missed it."

"Okay, where do I g-"

"Wait a second, it's rerouting."

"I'm waiting..."

"Okay, okay, take a left here-no, Peter, left."

"Oops."

"I SAID LEFT."

"Okay, left here?"

"Right."

"Right?"

"No, left."

"But you said-"

"Jesus fucking christ! Put me down, we'll walk."

"Ok, boomer."

"What?"

...

"WHY IN THE FUCK WOULD YOU LAND ON A TELEPHONE POLE."

"Why not?"

"Put me down, you absolute buffoon."

"You know you love meeee."

"Yeah yeah."

We're walking toward the club and I'm trailing behind Harley like an insolent child.

What else is new?

He reaches down to hold my hand as we walk, but grabs the bandaged one instead.

"gAH!"

Blood seeps through the gauze, but I cover it up before Harley can see.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry, I forgo-"

"It's okay, seriously. Barely hurts."

"My bleeding eardrums say otherwise."

I roll my eyes.

_Please stop worrying about me please stop worrying about me!_

**_I thought you liked it when people care about you, when they worry._ **

"Here."

I walk around to his other side and grab his left hand.

We approach the building, and I'm suddenly extremely conscious of the angle at which I'm holding his hand.

_Is my palm sweaty?_

_Am I shaking too much?_

**_Stop being so fucking awkward._ **

There are people queued up for at least forty feet in front of the booming club's alabaster walls.

"C'mon Harley, let's go somewhere else. By the time we set foot in there, they'll already be closed."

He says nothing and keeps walking.

"Hey, it's not worth it. Besides-we have no IDs."

_How did I think this was going to work?_

**_Unprepared as usual. Now he's going to be disappointed. You got in trouble with the team for no reason. You didn't seriously think you'd be able to entertain him alone, did you? Idiot, you better get him shitfaced for him to stay longer than an hour._ **

"Shut up!"

_I panic. He heard me._

_I said that out loud._

_Fuck._

_I thought that shit was only supposed to happen in fanfiction!_

**_Aaaand you're fucked. Great job, Parker. Just marvelous!_ **

_Nonononno..._

"Peter? Hello? Babe, you okay?"

_Waitaminutewhatthefuckdidhejustcallme?_

_OMgomgomgomgomgomgogmgggg_

"What? Yeah, no, I'm fine."

I'm actually stuck between an anxiety attack and blissful, heart stopping joy, so...fine. Yep, that is actually 100% normal for me. Jesus, I'm a mess.

Harley arches an eyebrow.

_Fuck, that's hot._

"You sure? Because..."

"Oh no, I was just yelling at Karen. She was telling me to be responsible and go home, but that's obviously not gonna happen, so..."

I can tell he doesn't buy it, but he nods anyway and walks right up the bouncer at the door.

_What is he up to?_

"Harley, what...."

He gives me a look that probably means 'shut up, I got this'.

The man at the door recognises him.

_Okay, weird..._

Harley pulls a monogrammed card of some sort out of his jacket pocket and barely flashes it at the bouncer.  
How very Gatsby of him.  
He immediately waves us in, to which the cheaply bedazzled crowd waiting by the door lets loose an Afremov painting of colourful language. Once I cross the threshold, I feel younger. Smaller. Shouts break out from across the room as an old man attempts to grope one of the dancers, and he is promptly removed from the building.

I'm stumbling through the crowd, grasping on to Harley's rough hand. We tear through throngs of slick bodies swimming against each other to the bar, where Harley merely waves his hand to the bartender. The busty biker chick behind the counter stops mid-pour and abandons some girl's cosmo to pour two shots of whiskey at a rather astonishing speed.

"Um...thanks?" Harley smoothly sips his drink and looks to me expectantly.

"How?" Is all I can make out.

"I was Mister Stark's intern, remember? Well, he and Pepper got into it, and she jetted off to...god knows where, and the poor guy was a mess. It was 2010 all over again. So, I went everywhere with him."  
I don't doubt him, but something tells me he's stretching the truth.  
What about the card?  
I jab my thumb in the direction of the pole dancers with their pet geezers, all trussed up and drooling at their feet.

"Everywhere?"

He nods.

"Everyfuckin'where."

I chuckle.

Tony never would have taken me somewhere like this. He must have been really fucked up...

But he took Harley.

_Was Harley just my replacement?_

I mean, I guess he's grown accustomed to the emotional climate with a teenage kid in the house; I suppose it would make sense...

"They seemed to be getting along alright, as far as I could tell."

"They're fine now-you know how it is."

"Yeah..."

I remember vividly May and Ben's marriage troubles.

It's getting really loud in here. And bright. And smelly...

_**Grow up.** _

Harley's eyes snap back to mine for an almost painfully intense second

I notice the man who'd just gotten thrown out walk back in still tucking his wallet back in his jacket pocket. He must have paid off the guards.

Harley follows my gaze.

"That's Norman Osbourne's brother. He's the new Harvey Weinstein, if you know what I mean."

A few minutes later, Norman's brother-Carlisle, Harley said his name was-is standing in the corner having a heated discussion with the youngest of the dancers. It doesn't look good.

"I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"You'll see."

Harley is suspicious, but he doesn't chase after me.

"Karen, how old is she?"

"One moment....she's nineteen."

"Jesus."

_How did she manage to get in here, let alone in...that capacity?_

"How much is in his wallet?"

"Peter, Carlisle Osbourne is a very powerful man. I suggest you not follow this course of action."

"You want me to stop and count it in front of the dude?"

She sighs.

"Eight hundred."

Who the fuck keeps eight hundred dollars on their person?

"Alright, and his watch?"

"Seventy thousand."

"Now we're talking."

She can fence it, buy her way out of this life.

I approach Carlisle and 'accidentally' bump into him.

"Oops-hic-sorry. I w's lookin for the b'throom?"

The elderly man rolls his eyes and the dancer turns to me.

"It's that way, to the right."

Her voice is soft and her demeanour docile, and something in her doe eyes tells me I shouldn't leave her alone with this guy. So I pretend to stumble into him again and lift his wallet from his pocket.

"Hey-watch it, asshole."

I carefully finger through it with my back turned, then toss it on the ground near his feet.

"Eh mister, y'dropped smthn."

I bump his arm to get his attention, deftly removing his watch in the meantime.

As he bends down to pick it up, I give the dancer a slap on the ass and slide the watch into her thigh-high boots. .

"Hey!" She protests.

I roughly pull her close and whisper in her ear.

"Leave this place. Never talk to him again."

Her face relaxes when she feels where I've tucked the cash into her waistband.

I slip through the crowd back to Harley.

Behind me, I can hear the girl shouting.

"Y'know what? I quit."

She stalks off toward the back of the club and throws the clip in her hair onto the stage dramatically.

That was sudden. For all she knew, I could have given her monopoly money. Or a single dollar bill.

Well, I suppose if someone is willing to risk pickpocketing a billionaire, they'd take it all.

I see the girl waiting by the back door to flash me a grateful nod, then she disappears behind the bead curtain.

"What was that all about?"

"He's a douchebag and she's just a kid."

"You're just a kid."

"Likewise."

He cracks his neck and sloshes the liquor around in his glass.

"Touché."

A beat.

"So, you come here often?"  
Harley squints at the exposed ducts on the ceiling, like he's choosing his answer very carefully.

Spots dance in my vision, and I feel lightheaded.

"Woah, you okay?"

Harley has me by my shoulders.

"Yeah, I just..."

Small. Air, I need air. Too bright. Too loud.

"I need some..."

I'm gasping now; I can't breathe.

Harley nods and guides my out the door by the elbow, where I collapse against the wall.

"Whoa, you good?"

"He's fine."

I open my eyes to the dancer I helped earlier and she's smiling warmly, holding a cup of cold water to my lips.

"Hey kid."

"Hi..."

Harley looks a little jealous as I take the styrofoam cup from her, trying desperately not to scrape my skin off on her long, fake nails-wait, they were more like talons.

"Thank you."

"Please, it was the least I could do."

She pats a spot on her duffle bag where, presumably, sits the watch and cash I gave her earlier.

I grin.

"Should be enough to get you outta here."

I glance around the alley, but she knows I'm not talking about the club. Or this neighbourhood, even-wherever the hell we are.

She and Harley talk in hushed tones for a few minutes while I struggle to stay awake.

"Hey babe, you feelin' a little better?"

My face is so numb.

"Yeah, one sec."

I draw my hand back and slap myself across the face, and Harley tugs my arm away but it's too late.

_Okay, that hurt._

_Quite more than I was expecting it to._

**_Nice._ **

"Peter-"

I stretch out my jaw.

"Yep. Better now."

He sighs, and holds the door open for me.

Inside, we spend about an hour dancing and drinking. Harley thinks I don't notice, but he's holding back and not getting drunk. I try, but I absorb the alcohol too quickly. I'm manic for a moment, then back to normal.

It's a strange experience, and I feel small. Surrounded by these tall, burly men and skinny, sallow-faced junkies and beautiful, beautiful women. There are people-so many people. New York is a rather intimate city, and you tend to have more physical contact with random people on the subway than the sheets on your own bed. But this was...different. Nobody likes being packed into a subway. Nobody likes where it's taking them; off to their jobs and the daily grind. Nobody likes being accidentally stepped on by women teetering on stilettos at quarter-to-eight in the morning when their feet haven't yet begun to ache and swell. Or, when you literally rub elbows with movie stars, mafiosi and middle-aged moms probably named Karen all on the same block; when you squeeze through a tight crowd, only to find that your phone and debit card have been lifted.

But this was different. These young people were sweaty, hormonal, shimmering in the neon strobe lighting and swimming in their skimpy, glamorous outfits. We were all by no accounts comfortable, yet we all wanted to be here. This was the unwarranted blundering through boundaries that we craved. And it was amazing.

I feel small, but not unimportant.

We continue like this for awhile, and it's genuinely fun. Being one with the crowd, being a part of something. That is, until I heard the gunshots.


	18. SANDWICH

Harley's POV

Loud bangs ring through the room. I recognise them as gunshots, and it sends me back to hunting with my dad. I never liked guns-they turn perfectly peaceful, euphoric moments into the bitter taste of adrenaline. The crowd starts to stampede, and I realise that this is going to turn Hillsborough disaster real quick if we don't get out of here. I reach forward to grab Peter, but instead I'm met by a chunky dude who promptly punches me. Because obviously, that's what you should be doing when someone's firing into a crowd.

I need to find Peter, but when a woman in a silk slip dress is gunned down less than a foot away from me, my instincts kick in and I seek shelter.

_He's a goddamned Avenger-he's got this._

I manage to scramble behind the bar, where Chelsea is crouched on the floor.

"Hey." I poke her shoulder, and she nearly stabs me with a knife.

"Whoa, it's me, relax."

"Jesus fucking christ, Sherl, you scared the shit outta me."

"Yeah, me too.You know anything?"

"It's the Koreans."

_Shit._

"Somebody tipped them off that Osbourne would be here. They got beef."

I nod.

"So he came?"

Chelsea nods toward the ironclad spider, who is 'thwipping' around the room, taking down the gunmen.

"I'm afraid I brought him here."

"You know him?" Her eyebrows shoot straight up.

"It's complicated."

She nods, as if to say _it always is._

"You want me to deal with them?" She asks.

"No, he's got it."

I can't help but smile as Peter kicks ass.

Chelsea shrugs and relaxes against the cabinet, and I lift my head to see how Peter's doing.

He's taken out all of the gunmen, and he's trying to control the crowd.

Without another word to Chelsea, I leap over the bar counter and run up the steps to Peter.

"Hey."

"Hey, are you ok?"

I nod.

People are screaming and running, and I can't make out anything they're saying.

"What do we do?" I ask.

"I-I don't know. They're-they're killing each other!"

Peter has his hands out and is frantically trying to talk to them.

"Don't worry everybody, it's okay-please calm down!"

Wait a minute.

"Hillsborough, 1989." I shout, and run to the back to find the circuit breaker.

It takes a second, but he nods gravely and somersaults through the air to the doors, holding them open with his webs.

The Hillsborough disaster was an overcrowded football game in '89 that ended in the spectators 'crushing', or stampeding each other. They had nowhere to go, and ninety-six people died with around eight hundred injured.

I yank open the door of the circuit breaker to cut off the music and turn on the lights.

Running back through the beaded curtain, I can see that more than half of the crowd has left, out the front and side doors. Under the circumstances, letting the witnesses run off like that-possibly injured-wasn't the best idea, but keeping them inside would have been far more disastrous. Sirens echo in the distance and I see Peter helping an injured guy out onto the steps to wait for an ambulance. Soon, I'm the only live person standing on the dance floor. There are mangled bodies around me-some shot, some fatally crushed in their haste to escape.

I realise that I have to tell Peter.

He's limping back to me, obviously in pain but he hides it when he sees me.

"Are you alright? Oh my god, what happened to your eye?" He asks, retracting his mask.

"I'm fine. You'd better get that back on before the cops get here. How bad is it?"

I gesture toward his leg.

"Oh, I'll be alright."

He slips a little, and I hold him up over my shoulder.

"How many?"

Peter's face falls against my chest.

"Fifty-three."

Jesus.

"That's..."

"Yeah," he finishes.

"The police are going to want a statement from you."

I nod. This ain't my first rodeo. Or, in this case, shootout.

"I know. I won't tell them who you are."

He just nuzzles his head gratefully.

"I'm so sorry, Pete."

"Did you shoot them?"

"...no, of course not."

"Then you have nothing to apologise for."

And there we wait for a few minutes. Two broken boys among the rubble in this bullet ridden room. A woman coughs a few feet away, and Peter rushes to her side, simultaneously webbing one of the gunmen's mouths shut. I notice the handgun by his side, but I ignore it.

I mean, his hands are tied, there's no way he could get to it, right?

Wrong.

Apparently, the webs have a rather high elasticity. Just as patrol cars pull up in front of the building and Peter is walking the few survivors out to meet the ambulance, I hear a click.

Not the click of ruby heels or the click of Peter's phone. Not the click of cufflinks, the current flowing at the flick of a light switch or the click of Tony's car door. This was a very distinct click, a click I'd hoped I would never hear again. How could I have been so naïve, to think that I'd ever escape my father's legacy?

The man with the handgun lifts it up to face me; I never should have let him see my face.

I almost want him to do it-maybe then I'd be able to avoid this in the future. No more running from who I am, no more small-talk with my dad's associates. Nobody would know me.

But before my better judgement can get the best of me, a metal legs wrap around my torso and roll me away. I snuggle into his warm body; it's comforting even with the suit on.

I look up and the gunman is dead.

Peter never kills...

The legs relax and fall limply away.

"Hey, thanks for that. You ok?"

I cradle his head, and he jerks violently, his mask opening around his mouth as he coughs up blood.

_Shit shit shit shit._

"Pete, what did you do?"

He chuckles.

"I saved your ass," he says dryly.

"C'mere, let me see." I lift him up and see the blood pouring from his back, right where the spider legs attach to the suit. The armour there must have been weakened.

"Oh Pete..."

How the fuck did he get hit in literally his only weak spot?

"Mm fine."

"Bullshit. I'm calling Natasha."

"Mm fine!"

I reach for my phone, but it's shattered to pieces.

The next few minutes are a dull blur-I tell a woman in a pressed blue uniform what happened, leaving out all the right parts. Peter is talking to a man in the same uniform, who keeps putting blankets around his shoulders. He waves dismissively at the guy, obviously refusing medical care. I know he feels guilty he couldn't save them all. But what can I do?

So Peter promises the man he'll get help and disappears around the corner, barely able to hang onto his webs. Paramedics are shouting from behind him, but they have more important things to worry about. With a sigh, I walk the opposite way down the street so as not to arouse suspicion but circle back around the building to find Peter. I can't find him, until I realise that he's the bloodied lump slouched in the the alley.

I run.

His suit is gone, and he sits in his civilian outfit from before.

"Peter! Oh my god.."

"Harley, I...I couldn't save them. I couldn't save them all."

"Babe, you're not a Jedi, you can't stop bullets."

"But I sh-should have b-been able to."

He's shivering now, and I take off my blazer and wrap it around his quivering shoulders.

"Okay, just give me one second. I'm gonna get us out of here, okay?"

What do I do?

I know exactly what to do.

"Hey Pete, you got a knife?"

Sluggishly, he snaps off a piece of his suit that appears around his wrist.

"That...that works too."'

He winces with every move. There must be spinal damage...how am I gonna get him out of here?

Using the metal shard, take off my Church's and cut through the slit in the heel.

I semi-consciously whisper sweet nothings to the shoe, earning a snort from Peter.

Beneath the rubber of the sole is a steel box with a latch, which makes up the heel of the shoe.

Flipping it up and opening the hinged cavity I grab the small burner phone.

The other shoe has a sizeable wad of cash.

I walk a few feet away from Peter and pace with the phone to my ear.

_Please answer._

_You promised._

To my relief, a gruff voice is on the other end.

"Harley, my boy!"

"Hey Flavio, I'm calling in a favour."

"I see."

"You've got my location?"

"I'm leaving now."

"Meet me in the alley."

"Of course, sir."

"Please don't call me that."

He hangs up, and I fly to Peter's side.

"How you holdin' up?"

Barely conscious, he lifts his eyes to meet mine.

"L've me."

"What?"

"Leave me," he croaks and I can't believe my ears.

"I'm sorry, what? Why the hell would I do that?"

"I'll die th'ss time."

What is that supposed to mean?

"Tell..." he rasps.

"It's okay buddy, I got a erm...a friend, coming to pick us up, so hang in there."

He snorts.

"What?"

"Ha. Hang in there."

I roll my eyes.

Jesus.

"Jesus Pete, I'm serious."

"So'm I." His head lolls to the side.

"C'mere."

I oblige, taking the superglue from inside my left heel and gluing both shoes back together and then seating myself beside Peter.

"Hang in there..." he whispers.

"Y'know, I did that once."

He's drunk, delirious, a little high and probably in shock.

These things somehow offer absolutely no reassurance whatsoever.

"Did what, babe?" I ask, not really focusing on the conversation as I use my shirt sleeve as a tourniquet around a rather nasty cut on his arm. Much to my displeasure, it was a reopened scar.

"Hang."

My blood freezes.

"What-um, what do you mean?"

Focus, Harley.

Stem the bleeding.

"I ended up just hanging out there for awhile. ...'mplete waste of three hours."

"You...you tried to hang yourself, and ended up...ended up dangling there for three hours??"

_Holy shit._

I rarely got to see the darker side of him and often sought him out in a sort of morbid curiosity.

But now that I got my wish, it was goddamn terrifying. I felt suddenly sick to my stomach.

"Yep. Juss....waiting to die." He giggles a little as if he were talking about getting wasted on a Tuesday or spending the night in jail after some mischief; not a suicide attempt.

"Pete, when did this happen?"

"Last...b'fore...Tony. Tony."

"Before Tony came back?"

"Mm."

"When? Was it right after he left?"

Silence. For a horrifying moment, Peter's eyes are dead. Dead, but screaming and full of raw emotion. The purest display of humanity.

Clearing his throat, he sounds and looks more like himself.

"From the day he snapped his fingers until I saw his face again."

"Peter, what does that mean?"

"Nothing good."

I try to process whatever it is he's trying to tell me.

He huffs, crossing his arms with a good amount of difficulty.

"Or, y'know, somethin' really good. *hic* Depends on how y'look at it."

He shivers and tosses his head, waking up a bit.

"Why do I feel like someone just took a sledgehammer to my back?"

"Well, it wasn't a sledgehammer but a couple of bullets."

His face pales.

"You're gonna be okay."

"I don't wanna."

"Wanna...what?"

_He doesn't want to be okay._

His face suddenly crumbles like pastries (yes, that was an old Ed Sheeran reference and no, I'm not sorry) and his form crumples what little it can, and he cries into my chest as I pull him closer.

"Shh, it's okay."

Not sure what to do, I just run my fingers through his hair which seems to work. He sobs like someone killed his puppy into my shoulder and I see headlights at the end of the alley.

Wow, great timing.

"Hey Pete, my friend is here to pick us up. Can you try to get up for me?"

"Please leave me." His voice is crisp and clear, and I can tell that the alcohol has faded rapidly from his system and all that's left is pain.

"Peter, come on. Get in the car."

"Harley, leave me here. Please."

He's so fucking stubborn.

"Ehhh, Harley!" He rolls down the window.

Not. Now.

"Hey Flavio."

"How can I help you on this fine evening? My, you've grown. I remember when you were just little boy, just this tall!"

Flavio sticks hand out about three and a half feet to demonstrate.

"Yeah, people change."

Something in his eyes darkens, and I almost don't want to get in his car.

"I'm just gonna...grab my friend."

He nods and props his wrinkly, ringed hand against his chin.

I jog back to the pile of discarded bricks Peter's leaning next to, only to find that he's trying to crawl away.

"Babe, come on. Let's go."

"No..." he breathes.

"Yep. Let's go. You're getting in the car." My voice has a weird authority to it.

I grab his arm and he gasps a little.

"You ok?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine."

No dipshit, you're not.

We hobble toward the car, Peter on my shoulder. Favio holds the door open for us, and I help the wounded spider in.

I close the door and walk around to the other side, that way Peter doesn't have to scoot over.

"Where to?" Favio rolls down the divider.

"The tower."

"So you're working with Stark now."

"Just drive, please."

"Alright, alright."

Maria Callas blares over the tacky gold-plated stereo.

"Can you turn that down?"

He obliges, swinging the car out into traffic and speeding down the highway.

A couple of police cars start following, but they turn away discreetly once they recognise the license plate.

We're in my father's old Rolls Royce-a custom job. The entire dashboard is gold plated, the seats italian leather. God, I always hated this car as a kid. My dad always told me that he hated it too-found it to be unbelievably tacky. And so it was. "But, Airoldi, sometimes we have to flaunt the things we despise for the sake of maintaining superiority through simplicity."

What the fuck does that mean, I had thought.

But, I get it now.

Peter shivers in my jacket, and the silence is deafening.

I scan my card and we pull in through Tony's personal garage, and my hands are covered in blood as I carry Peter to the elevator. He is heavy in my arms, but not heavy enough.

Suddenly, he starts struggling.

"Peter-Peter, stop."

"No, no..."

"Peter! I need to-"

He closes his eyes and steels himself. He's awake now, and pissed. But he doesn't say anything. He just...looks at me.

And it's the most painful thing I think I've ever seen.

 _You should have left me, Harley. You should have let me die,_ his face says.

But I know he understands.

_You never would have left me, because you love me. You poor, poor fool._

"No Doctor Cho," he winces.

"I can-uhhuh-I can do it myself."

"Wha-are you fucking crazy?!"

He grins.

"Nevermind, don't answer that. No, you can't take bullets out of your own back!"

"Harley, just hear me-gah!"

He grips the railing of the elevator and composes himself.

"Hear me out. I already have a protocol for this. How do you think I kept myself alive when Tony was...gone?"

His eyes glass over when he says "gone", and Peter starts inexplicably itching his thigh.

I sigh. He may be weakened, but he's still a superhuman. Also, Dr. Cho is currently in Haiti treating some oil tycoon.

I don't even know if Bruce is still in the building...

I mean, I can't exactly take him to a hospital...

Then, it hit me. Peter was dying.

Going against all my better judgement, I relent.

"Fine."

He giggles a little, and regrets it immediately with a groan of pain.

I take the lift up to Peter's lab.

"So I'm just gonna have Karen sew me up-she's very advanced, don't worry. I programmed her to be able to do this better than a human."

"Uh-huh."

Peter starts typing away at a computer.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

"Peter, I-"

He frowns at his hands.

"Harley, this is really important."

"Yes, anything, what is it?"

"I need you to go get....nggh!"

He reels, clenching his jaw. 

"A sandwich," he pants. 

Mmm.

Focus.

"Um, why?"

Peter grips the table and his knuckles turn white.

"Just get the damn sandwich."

"Number five, extra pickles, smushed down real flat."

"Understood. What kind of bread?"

He waves his hands incredulously, in a are you seriously fucking asking this question right now what the fuck manner.

"It's a cheap sandwich shop run by immigrants, how many kinds do you think they could possibly have??"

"Right, got it."

_Delmar's._

I mean, where else?

And so I stalk off to find my boyfriend a sandwich like he's my pregnant wife.

"Also-a chicken salad, on rye."

_OOh, my favourite._

_Oh._

_Awww._

"Got it."

The doors close behind me, and I freeze when I hear bolts clicking.

"Peter...?"

Why is he locking the doors?

"SANDWICH."

"Alright, alright."

I sigh and start jogging, my heels scuffing the poured concrete floor.

"My poor shoes......"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys please let me know if you have any grievances regarding the story thus far, requests or suggestion. Comments are worth more than gold to me. 
> 
> peace,
> 
> (if we had any, I'd be out of a job-Tony Stark, Iron Man 1)


	19. All of You

Peter's POV

"Karen, lockdown."

In, out.

In, and out.

I can hear the bolts clanging all around the room.

"Peter...?"

Goddammit.

"Sandwich!"

"Alright, alright..."

I can hear his footsteps echo down the hall, even through the three-inch vibranium doors.

"My poor shoes..." He mutters, and I can't help but laugh out loud.

_Ouch._

He's such a diva sometimes...

I guess super-hearing isn't all that bad sometimes.

"Peter," Karen's voice is apprehensive over the speakers.

"Yeahp?"

"You don't have a bullet removal protocol."

"Nope."

"Then how do you suppose you'll remove them?"

"No clue."

The endorphins have faded now, and all I can feel is a sickening, bone-deep pain.

Cuts and abrasions are surface wounds, just tears in the dermis and sometimes muscle. But this? This was something else. I can feel the bullets digging deeper into my ribs.

"Actually, I was wrong. I do have a clue."

"Peter..."

"Kindly shut thy trap, Karen. DUUUUUUUUUUM-E!"

I hear whirring behind me and DUM-E appears.

"Tell butterfingers to get his ass over here. You're gonna need all the help you can get..."

I clear off a table and lay face down, bunching up a nearby sweatshirt and putting it under my cheek.

"Alright, Karen?"

"Yes Peter?"

"I need you to help those two."

DUM-E and Butterfingers are on their way.

"I can try, but no promises...."

"Just do whatever you need to, K. It'll work..."

There's no way in hell this is gonna work.

On the other hand though, I don't really care what'll happen if it doesn't.

Karen knows this of course, so she'll work to the best of her ability.

The problem is, for the first time in a long-and I mean long time, I don't want to die.

I mean, I wouldn't mind it. Dying would be nice, but I don't really care enough any more.

I'm trying to figure out whether that's a good thing or a bad thing when I feel a stabbing pain in my back.

_It's starting._

Butterfingers lifts up my wrist to put in an IV, but I wave him away.

"Peter, you have to go under for this." Karen sounds concerned.

**_You don't deserve it._ **

"Nope-I'm okay, thanks."

"Peter-"

"Just get rid of the fucking bullets, please. I'll be fine."

_God, how could I have been so stupid? I should have taken his handgun..._

"Okay, applying numbing agent."

"Nope."

"Peter! You are not going to do this without pain meds."

"Yeah, I think I am."

"That's not safe."

I flick a few switches on my web shooters and they clasp around the lip of the table to restrain me. I shoot a web out of the corner of my eye at my feet.

"Now it's safe."

"Peter, let me call a doctor."

"Let's not."

"Please, Peter."

"Karen, just get on with it."

She says nothing and keeps going.

_You idiot, this is gonna hurt like a bitch._

**_That's the point._ **

_No. Even we have limits. This is ridiculous. People don't do shit like this._

**_Then let's be the first._ **

Oddly enough, despite knowing the fact that this is probably the most awful thing I'm ever going to experience and dreading it all the way, I'm a little bit excited.

_That's sick._

**_Yup._ **

_Breathe._

In...

....and out.

I make my hands into fists as the searing pain tears through my body, and I can't take it.

I just

Can't

Take

IT!

"Stop! Please, please, just....for one moment...." I'm sobbing now, and tears run into my soaking sweatshirt as the pain finally stops.

_This was stupid._

_This was really, really stupid._

**_Perhaps. But you gotta keep going._ **

_Yeah..._

Clearing my throat, I tell Karen to proceed.

"Peter, I think I should call Mister Stark."

"No, Karen. Just get it over with."

"Fine, I'll just call Harley."

"What!? No, that's-no!"

"You're bleeding out."

She's so frustrating.

"AND??"

"Peter, you aren't feeling well."

"Keep. Going. Do you want me to have those two idiots do it on their own?"

"Fine."

I can feel a rush of cold air as one bullet is removed, and DUM-E presses down with gauze a little too hard and there's warm sticky liquid flowing down my sides.

**_Great, now you've got Mr. Stark's table dirty._ **

_Shut UP._

I clench my teeth as Butterfingers cleans out the wound, swiping around.

"nggghk....AAARGH!"

I can't say that it's fun, because that would be admitting that I'm fucking insane.

However, it is, in a really horrible way.

_Why am I such a fucking masochist??_

**_Why aren't you more of one?_ **

About four agonising minutes later, the first bullet wound has been sewn up. My stomach is sticky with blood against the table, and my face is covered with sweat.

One down, one to go.

I think I passed out. Karen is whispering and Tony's robots are nowhere to be found, and someone's banging on the door. "Peter! Peter, are you okay in there? Just let me know you're okay, please...."

I can hear crying on the other side of the door, and I feel like I've been on a DBH trip.

"What did I do? I never should have left you, I'm so sorry...."

"Shit, Harley?"

"Peter? Peter!"

"Hey, gimme a sec."

I can practically feel his relief through the door.

My back is throbbing like a strobe light, and I slide on the now dry sweatshirt from under my cheek. I'm glad for the bandages on my stitches-they would have caught on the fabric otherwise.

I really, really don't want to have to move. 

"Karen, open the doors."

"Okay. They'll be open in six minutes."

What?

"Why?"

"Pete, you put this whole place on lockdown. Those doors ar-"

"Yeah yeah, ok. Harley, it'll be a minute!"

I hastily try to clean up the mess around the table, wiping up the blood everywhere.

"Peter, you have thirty seconds."

"Yep."

I throw some towels in the trash and wash my hands.

Harley is revealed behind the door, looking around the room suspiciously.

"What happened? Did you do it? How did you do it? Karen, what happene-"

I breath.

"Harley." I'm biting my lip _hard_ , and I wince as I feel a little blood trickle down my chin.

"Holy shit Peter, what are you doing to yourself? Come here..."

He walks up and tries to wipe my lip, but I hold my hands up.

"Keener, kindly hand over my fucking sandwich."

He nods, and thrusts a foil-wrapped sandwich. It's a number five alright, with extra pickles and everything.

"Jesus...this thing's flatter than Steve's high school band tuba."

Harley chuckles.

"And the chicken salad?"

He hands it over and I peel back the foil, putting it in his mouth.

"Eat."

It's four AM now, and I'm not tired at all.

I bite back a cry as I struggle to pop open a bottle of sparkling cider and Harley comes up behind me.

"Here, let me."

"I got it, Har." I keep pulling, but I hear a small pop from my back followed by a tearing pain, so I relent and hand him the bottle. I plop down on the couch with my sandwich and cuddle under the blankets, trying not to let the couch hit my back. Harley returns with a two glasses and pours, but I just didn't have the heart.

"Actually..."

_I need an advil._

**_No_ **

_Please, it hurts._

**_NO._ **

"Can I have some orange juice?"

**_Seriously? Your going to make him-_ **

_Shut up_

"Of course, yeah." Without a single complaint, he runs back to the kitchenette and pours me a glass of Thor's hand-squeezed OJ.

"Thanks."

I try to conceal my shaking hands and I'm barely able to hold the glass.

Harley sits cautiously next to me.

With his blood stained three-piece and champagne flute, and the messy sandwich in the other....he looks so...sophisticated, yet effortless. I can't hold back a laugh, and he looks at me inquisitively.

"Eh?"

"Nothing, you're just...so perfect."

"Hmm...it's probably the meds talking."

"The what? Oh yeah, the-yeah,"

"You took some pain meds, right?"

"Yeah, of course I did."

He doesn't buy it and gets up, but sits back down when I grab his arm.

"Hey-I did, don't worry. If I take any more, there'll be stomach bleeding."

Harley suspiciously bites his sandwich, eyes narrowed at me.

We eat in silence for a moment, before he breaks it.

"So how'd you do it?"

"Ummm..."

He looks at me expectantly.

"Trade secrets."

"Sure. Seriously, how did you-hmmmhmm!"

I break him off with a kiss, and start unbuttoning his shirt.

"This-mm-this conversation is not-ahh-over." He stutters as I kiss his neck.

He puts his glass down and I move lower, but he pulls me back up for a kiss.

The blood from my lip lingers on my tongue, and our kiss deepens. He's around my waist, and I'm panting now. A strange, sexy, strangled sound comes from the bottom of my throat, and it feels right, somehow. We're moving like a pump, back and forth as I unbutton his vest. His hands are in my hair and traveling down my neck to my back, where they scratch the stitches under my sweatshirt.

"Ahhhow...nnnngk"

" What's wrong? Oh my god I'm so sorry, I-"

"Again," I breathe.

"What??"

"More..."

His hands cautiously feel around the second wound under the bandages, and I collapse in pain, dots in my vision. I'm drooling, and I can feel Harley breathing under me.

"Oh Peter, I'm so sorry, this is so wrong...I'm not gonna hurt you, I can't...."

Harley babbles apologetically on, and all I can think of is the pain. It's ebbing away, and I never want to feel it again but once it's gone, I just can't get enough.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you, I'm so sorry...we should stop, this is...I'm really sorry."

"No, please, Harley, do it again."

"Are you crazy?"

He seems a little disgusted.

"Probably. But I mean, at least I'm not getting laid by some random dude at a gay bar. Come to think of it, there's an option..."

Something's swirling in the depths of Harley's eyes, and his eyebrows are doing something odd, something malicious. His other side. His devil.

"It's okay, don't worry, I'm really good at it myself-as you know-so, I'm not gonna ask you to-I mean, that's really fucked up, you're right, and I..."

He pulls me in for a kiss and slides his hands down to my ass. He's rock hard under me, and I can't stop giggling. I pull away and stare at him for a moment, just watching.

"I need..." I breathe into his chest and smell his cologne, guiding his hand to my back.

"I need you to..."

Our hands creep closer to my wounds with each desperate breath.

Oh god no please this is gonna hurt please no please no please no I want May please where is Mayyyy Oh, fuck....

More....MORE

"Hurt me," I whisper.

Something hardens in his stony expression and he presses down lightly on my back, holding me as I cry out. I'm almost scared of him.

"ARGH no, stop, p-please, it h-h-hurts...." It's hell, it's horrible.

I don't want to feel like this, never again, never, EVER again, this is awful....

And it's gone.

_Oh thank god, thank god..._

**_Moremoremoremoremoremoremore_ **

**_Where did it go?_ **

**_Why is it gone?_ **

Harley looks like he's just killed someone, but I can tell he's enjoying it as well.

Sick bastard.

What does that make us?

**Hungry,**

**M o r e**

**Moremoremoremoremoremoremoremore**

"More."

"Peter, I don't-I mean, I want to, for some reason, but are you sure that's wise?"

"Oh, I think it's very...." I purr seductively, kissing his fingers and guiding his hand once again to my back as I straddle him.

"Very..."

I tease my hand around his crotch.

"Very wise."

Squeeze.

He moans and his muscles contract, clawing at my stitches.

_I hate it I hate it I hate it **I love it.**_

**_I love it!_ **

"I love you..."

He pulls my sweatshirt over my head deftly, and I kiss his chest while jacking him off.

The faster I go, the tighter his grip is on my back. He almost draws blood, still grabbing my wounds through the bandage. We ride it out together, Harley soaking his trousers and me collapsing again, our systems flooded with endorphins. We're both panting now and I roll over on my back. The pain is excruciating, and if I open my mouth, I'll scream. So I keep it glued shut, only allowed muffled noises through. There's a certain animosity to Harley's voice, and I can feel him pull my pants down, and he's inside of me. Up is down, down is sideways and Harley is everywhere. He has no clue how horrible I feel right now, or how unbelievably awesome it is. He starts messing with my hair and nibbles my neck, sucking passionately.

Each kiss sends shivers down to my feet, and my toes entwine with his.

"Hey Harley, um...I'd love to keep going, you know I would, but-"

"Right, no need to screw up your back even more, I'm sorry."

"No, Tony's gonna be here in the morning."

I smile warmly at him, my chin rested on his chest. We remain there for awhile.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed."

He sits up and I struggle to adjust my bandages and slide my sweatshirt back on, earning crinkled nose from Harley.

"Eww."

"What?"

"Your sweatshirt."

"Oh. I'll um...take a shower."

The gauze pad on my back shifts, making me wince. Harley sees.

"Come on, I'll help you."

"That's really not necessary."

"It really is."

Once we make it back to my bedroom, I carefully slide off my jeans and Harley helps me with the sweatshirt. It's really hard to do...much of anything, really. I'm healing fast, but not fast enough. I step into the shower and Harley follows, the warm water sliding off his beautiful body.

"Eyes front and center, soldier."

I turn around and Harley gasps when he removes the bandage.

"Peter, it's almost healed." The last word is a whisper.

"It's what? Congealed?"

"Healed."

"No way..."

In disbelief, I slide the glass shower door open and turn around, seeing the nearly healed bullet wounds in the foggy mirror. It's still puffy, but the stitches will have to come out soon.

"Holy shit."

Am I seeing things?

You can't be, he saw it too.

I don't believe it.

Cautiously, I poke it. I can't feel any pain, and I panic a little.

"Awesome."

"You're amazing," Harley breathes.

"I'm really not."

He responds with a kiss.

"Babe, since it's okay, can I maybe...shower alone?"

He looks a little hurt.

"Yeah, it's...this is a big step, sorry."

"Not at all, I'm just tired is all, and I don't wanna like, pass out, so..."

He nods, and turns to leave.

"Wait."

I kiss his cheek and close the door with a wink. With that charade over, I'm able to close the frosted glass door and relax. "Karen, you there?"

"Always..."

Creepy.

"Lights."

"You got it."

I lower with the lights, until I'm slumped against the stone wall.

My head is in between my knees, and I breathe.

In...

And out.

In...

And out.

In...

And I can't do this anymore.

I can feel that devil inside of me taking over, and I let it.

My eyes are glinting, and I stand up. I'm soaking wet and freezing cold, but I walk across the bathroom to the sink cabinet. I pull the top drawer out and sure enough, it's taped to the back.

I look at it and my heart rate skyrockets. Entranced, I walk back inside the shower where the water is scalding hot compared to the frigid air of the bathroom.

I let it splash the back of my neck, leaving red splotches all over my skin. I sit down slowly and turn the shiny metal over in my hand. I feel like I'm in a movie or a music video, my actions dramatised. There's a haze around my head, like the air is thick and syrupy and I'm only just noticing it. I run my thumb along the edge, testing it. This one was brand-spankin'-new, one of my last fresh ones. There's no blood, but it bites into my skin. The feeling is jarring at first, but it eventually subsides and the relief follows. Oddly enough, I put it down on my knee, sitting cross-legged. I just...don't have it in me today.

**_Disappointing._ **

**_Yeah, well, what else is new?_ **

I can't believe what happened at the club earlier. It's finally clicking-all the shit that I see in the news on my phone, it happened. It happened to me.

And it happened to Harley.

_All those people died. I didn't save them._

_I didn't save them._

_I didn't save them?_

_I didn't save them!_

_I didn't save them._

_Oh my god, I didn't save them._

"I didn't save them."

My vision is clouded by tears, but I see red and I know that I've gone too far.

The glass door slides open and I panic, hiding my wrists behind my back. The razor clatters to the ground and I cover it with my foot.

"Heyyyy....Harley."

His face is so sad, he looks like he's in more pain than I am. But behind that sadness, there's an eagerness. I can't really put my finger on it, but I know I shouldn't want it.

"You couldn't."

My face is in a massive, panicked grin.

"Mmm?"

"You couldn't have possibly saved them, Peter so don't you dare."

His face turns dark as he sees the river of blood flowing from behind me.

"Peter..."

I open my mouth to speak, but only let out a strangled sob.

What's happening?

My arms are bloodied and Harley is trying to wrap them in washcloths, tying one around my upper arm to stem the bleeding.

"Harley, stop."

He's trying to fix me, he's trying to make me stop hurting.

It worked before, maybe it'll work now?

He's dripping wet now in his t-shirt, staring at me intently. I kiss his lips and our mouths are one.

Harley moans and joins me on the shower floor, and I know I've taken him over.

The blood runs down our bodies and it's all very disturbingly erotic.

I can't think to do anything but curl up on his chest like a cat.

Then, I say something that surprises myself.

"Harley, I think I need help."

"No shit, Sherlock."

We both laugh.

"The thing is..."

I roll over until I'm on my stomach and cross my arms, propping my chin up.

"I don't wanna die anymore."

"Mm? Come again?"

I know he heard me, but he knows that if I say it again, I'll really believe it.

And I'm okay with that.

"I don't want to die, Harley."

He smiles, and it's beautiful.

Like, really fucking beautiful.

"Then how do you explain this?" He sadly tips his head toward my arms, now staining his shirt.

We're gonna need him to buy a whole new fucking wardrobe, jesus...people are gonna think he's a fricking serial killer.

I laugh out loud, worrying him even more. Someone so gentle, a serial killer?

"Peter..."

"Right, sorry. I was just...nevermind. Umm...right, this?" My eyes dart down to his bloodied chest and back up to his eyes.

"Yeah, Peter. It's kinda hard to miss..."

"I don't-I'm not trying to die. I would have done it already."

"You did try."

I nod my head and frown.

"Yeah, maybe-but not this time!"

He glares at me.

"I see this as an absolute win." I put my arms out like Bruce did in Scott's vlog.

"Peter Fucking Parker..." he starts, but even he giggles a bit.

"You know I larb you."

He nods.

"And I, you."

I kiss him hard, and slide off his chest. He advances, holding himself over me.

"Hey."

He grins mischievously.

"Hey."

I bite my lip and it opens up again.

"Hurt me?"

Harley seems scared at first, but then he smiles. He knows what I mean.

"Of course, baby."

HIs eyes darken like he's angry or something, and I'm a little scared. He moves down and kisses my neck, then my chest. I can't help but shiver, and the water splashes in my eyes. He moves lower, and lower and lower and lower, and soon he's got me in his mouth, every damn inch. I can feel his teeth on me, and it's amazing. I can feel that self-destructive devil surfacing again, except this time, it's in a good way. He's happy.

I'm happy. What more could I want?

Harley starts sucking harder until it actually hurts, and then he flips me over roughly, planting hard kisses on my spine. He straddles my back and then stops when I whimper. Harley picks up my wrist and starts kissing the cuts, and I really feel like he's accepting all of me, even though I'm disgusting. His lips travel down my wrist until they hit a really big one, and I yelp, then settle.

The clots wash away in the water, and start bleeding more. He's usually so calm and gentle, but he's an animal now. His tongue twirls around my cuts, sparking a fire in my arms.

"Gah-please, p-p-please, I-"

He looks at me again and I'm expecting concern, but he's grinning. He's enjoying himself.

Isn't that...messed up?

More.

"It-it's okay. I'm okay."

Harley advances again, pinning my down from behind. He's inside of me now, tearing me up and I just can't stop crying. His hands are rough on my shoulders, and he relaxes after it intensifies, laying down next to me.

"Mmm."

He grins, a terrifying wolfish smile.

"M-more..."

Harley's hand snakes around my waist and up my back to the barely-healed bullet wounds.

"Does this..."

I'm trembling, but he keeps going. I don't even feel like a person anymore.

"Hurt?" He stares at me intensely and claws the scar tissue.

I scream and he clamps a hand on my mouth.

"Shhh...."

His fingers claw deeper, and they almost break the skin when they release.

"Answer my question, Petey."

His eyes are dark and stormy. Is that what he's like when he's turned on?

Is this what turns him on?

I love it.

"Y-yes, yeah it-it hurts so bad."

His expression fades a little.

"What am I doing?" He whispers.

"Harley, it's-it's okay, it's-"

"No, no, no this is ridiculous, I'm just like my dad, no..."

"What? Listen, I don't know your dad, but I don't need to know that you're better."

He looks a little hopeful.

"Listen, I..."

He says nothing, just watches.

"I wanted to say thank you. For loving me, even though there's a part of me that's just...super fucked up."

He's silent for a moment.

"Peter, I love all of you. Your fucked up bits, your genius bits, every damn inch of you."

That. That's all he needed to say.

That's all anyone ever needed to say.

I carefully place the razor in his hand.

"You know exactly what to do."

"No, no Peter I don't want to-I'm a monster, I can't possibly do that to you?"

"Oh, but you can. You can do it better than anyone else. And if you're a monster...what does that make me?"

"Fair point."

I close his fingers around the blade.

"Now,"

I roll onto my stomach, thankful for my enormous shower.

"Hurt me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.
> 
> It's that time, folks-this is the natural ending of the story. I've been going through some shit as of late, and for some twisted reason, making our favourite characters suffer seems to help a lot (Jesus, I'm a sick fuck), especially if what I'm writing is a sort of warped reflection of my own life. Does this make me a narcissist? Probably. Do you want to keep hearing me bitch about my personal issues? Hell nah! With that said, I can draw it out if you want, but I'd much rather start something new. Even if that something new is like, basically the same thing-self destructive Peter, smol bean Harley is secretly a badass mafia boss, etc. So, please comment and let me know. I'm open to writing anything from the following fandoms: Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus (especially Solangelo), Divergent, Sherlock (BBC), Doctor Who, Harry Potter, etc.
> 
> Just send me a request, seriously.
> 
> Love you guys! 
> 
> PS it's gonna be really fucking angsty and dark because...that's my thing, if you didn't catch that yet but I am open to other ideas.


	20. Is There?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some kinky masochistic smut. Skip over if you can't stomach it (which I highly doubt. Furthermore, this warning will probably only prompt you to read it anyway. I'm rambling, aren't I?)

I place the razor in Harley's hand, and he looks up at me through his lashes.

I send him a look that says "I trust you."

And he sends me a look that says "You shouldn't."

We kiss and I move under him, giving him the wheel. He holds the flat of the blade to my neck, but stops short.

"What are we-I-you'll never-I can't do this." 

"Harley, listen to me."

I grab his shoulders, sitting us both up.

"I, for some fucked up reason, enjoy this. And you..."

"Need to not let myself go, I-"

"You won't really hurt me. I'm serious. You've seen what I can do. If you end up going too far, I can stop you."

"But what worries me," his voice wavers.

"Is that you won't. You won't stop me, and I don't know why I like this, it's sick, and-"

"I saw how you handled yourself at the club. You have...another life."

Harley opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"I know, you were planning to tell me, but you could never find the right time because-well, it's private. That's completely okay. And about this?" I nod toward the blade in his hand.

"You want to see me vulnerable. That's normal. I'm just so...so fucking crazy, I-I'm always a mess, but I'm always in control. But now, you are. And don't worry about the healing-Bruce made me a serum a few years ago."

He looks down.

"Okay then, if you say so. But Peter, this is a part of myself that I've never explored. I can't control myself."

"So control me." I smile, meeting his lips with mine.

Yeah.

This is super fucked up.

Harley is super fucked up for enjoying this. 

But you know what?

Who gives a shit.

At least I know that if he's hurting me, he won't go too far. I'm safer this way. And he can...let out whatever it is he needs to let out.

He kisses me hard, then trails down my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

Harley's fingernails scratch at my skin, until they reach a massive bruise on my ribs.

"Peter..." he murmurs.

"Are you-"

"Just do it, Harley."

He licks his lips and moves up to meet my eyes, his fingertips grazing my skin over the bruise.

I don't want this, please, I need to say something why can't I say something I don't want him to hurt me I'm scared, I'm really scared-

Shut up.

Harley presses down softly on the purple splotch, gauging my pain tolerance.

I just smile at him, but then he viciously jabs his thumb into my ribcage.

My vision blacks, and I swear I'm somewhere else for a moment. 

"Gaaaaaah! Ah-ah-ohhhmygod, Harley what the fuck..."

Gone is my loving, chivalrous gentleman. He kisses my lips again, pressing even harder on the bruise. I'm screaming now, it's hell. He bites at my neck, and I can feel blood flowing, a little too close to my jugular for comfort. For the first time, I consider how horrible it would be for Harley if he accidentally killed me. I know I would let him, but I can't. For his sake. He seems a little shocked at how flimsy my ribs are, how flexible. 

Almost like punishment for letting my mind wander, he cruelly digs the heel of his hand into my sternum. Nothing happens and it doesn't really hurt, until I hear a popping sound. 

Stop it, please make him stop, it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts!

I'm trying to scream, but he's smothering me with his mouth, his hand around my throat. 

His whole body is crushing my ribs heavily, and I know that they will only bend so far before they snap. When I only allow myself to have the strength of an ordinary teen, I realise how freakishly strong Harley is. And that's something, compared to a freak such as myself. 

His grips tightens around my neck, and I just can't live anymore. One wrong move and I'm gone. I really want to, I want to be gone. But I can't. 

I pull my lips away.

"-arley, Harley!" He doesn't stop until I roll over and straddle him.

"Baby, please..."

Moremoremoremoremoremoremoremoremoremore

His face settles, and he realises what he's done.

"No no no...I didn't-that wasn't me, I don't-"

"Harley, it's okay."

"No, it's not! I hurt you, I can't believe I..."

I kiss him to make him shut up, my chest aching like I was stomped on by a hippogriff.

Moremoremoremoremoremoremoremoremoremore!

"You're okay. You're just fine."

"But you-"

"Enjoy this. You're barely hurting me," I lie. 

"But I am..."

"I'm spiderman, for god's sake. I think I can handle someone poking me. Besides-the shit I go through on a daily basis, I need something a little stronger to actually wake me up, y'know?"

"Yeah but Pete, there's a difference between pain and pleasure. This-this is not good."

"Is there?" 

I know my eyes are glinting beadily and I know exactly the effect I'm having on him. His whole body clenches up, and he simply can't resist me. 

He nods gravely, and I kiss him with every ounce of strength I have left. Rocking back and forth on top of him, I guide his hand back to the blade.

As we grow closer to the razor, my hands start shaking uncontrollably and I can feel an odd tingle in my hip, that feeling you get when you know someone's behind you and something bad is going to happen. My bod is wailing for mercy, but my mind is in ecstasy. 

Yesss

Come on, you know you want to.

Forgetting his inhibitions, Harley grasps the razor in one hand and rakes the other across my back. We toss about, landing with me on my stomach and Harley over me. Blood swirls from my arms by my sides.

"This is gonna hurtttt..." he murmurs in my ear.

I feel a biting pain in my shoulder, and I know it's the blade in my skin.

I can't describe this next feeling with anything other than horrible ecstasy. Harley slashes little cuts, then kicks it up a notch.

"Oh-Argh!"

What the fuck. What the fuck??

Yes....

Owowowowow make it stop please make him stop

"Shit, Harley!"

But he's too deep in his own mind. Harley kisses down my back, snaking his tongue through my open wound.

"gaaAAARH! Holy shit, fuck, oh my god owwwww..."

Harley stops and leans in next to my ear.

"You okay, baby?"

No, I'm not, please stop! 

"Mmm."

MOre

"I'm-I'm okay."

"You sure? Because...we've barely gotten started."

"Ha. I like this Harley. He's...naughty."

I hear a low laugh behind me, and suddenly he's inside of me. No prepping, no warning. Harley's tearing me apart from the inside out. With each surge of energy, he slams his open hand on my back, and it stings. But it's an exciting sort of pain. I welcome it. 

"M-m-more, I need more!"

He chuckles.

"Well, you asked for it."

Faster, harder, he's all the way in and his hips are touching me.

"That better?"

"Mmhmm." If I open my mouth, I'll scream. 

He pushes in just then as far as he can and twitches. I see stars, the most euphoric feeling I've ever experienced.Harley whips out the razor and starts scratching into my skin. It's agonising.

"Ooohmy god, Harley, what are you doing?"

"Don't move." He pushes my face against the tile roughly.

That's gonna bruise. 

I can't help but laugh. This is wild.

"I said, don't move!" He pounds into me again, and I can feel the heel of his hand shove my shoulder to the ground. I don't know what's happened, but suddenly, I don't feel human.

"Harley please," I beg, weakly.

He soldiers on, sending all of me soaring with each thrust and each cut. I want him to stop, but once it's gone, I simply can't get enough. He fucks me into the floor, and I catch his reflection in the bloody water. He's unhinged, he's an animal. But then, it's too much. It's too vivid, too loud, I daresay-too painful. 

He's enormous, and I start shaking with the sheer amount of force being exerted on my oddly weak body. Harley bites the flesh on my back and draws blood, slamming his hips into my ass and his fist against my back. This is brutal. 

"Please, it-it really hurts." I croak.

But he doesn't care. He can't. Harley keeps going, his hand now around my throat. The pain is too much to bear, and he's an animal now. My peripheral vision is nonexistent and my pulse throbs lazily in my ears, my arms no longer bleeding. Which is weird, because I went pretty deep there. I feel like I'm slipping away, being beaten-literally-senseless. I can't feel my toes. 

I start slipping away, and I realise that I'm dying. 

And for the first time in-well, forever-I'm not okay with that. 

"Harley," I wheeze, gasping for air. 

"Harley you're-you're killing me," I whisper. 

He stops, horrified at what he's done, and my breath is ragged.

I gulp the air greedily, sensation flooding into my limbs. 

"I-I-oh god, what have I-" He starts crying and I try to get up but I just...can't. A bone-deep ache has settled into my entire body. It's agonising. 

"Harley, it's okay. You're okay."

"Yeah but you aren't. I don't know what that-that thing was. I just...I wasn't even there. That was someone else."

What?

"Well, I want him back. Just keep me out of the ER and we should be good."

He rolls his eyes and I know he'll try to be more gentle. It's not entirely his fault-when I'm not trying, mine is really a sorry excuse for a body. But still...

I try to roll over, but it's way too painful. 

Shit. 

Luckily, Harley doesn't notice and he spins my around, his palms barely touching me. 

Without a word, kisses pepper my back and I can't help but giggle, my back arching.

We roll around for a few minutes, just making out. Soon, it's not enough.

Moremoremoremoremore.

I look at Harley pleadingly, but he just shakes his head.

Guess I'll do it myself.

Keeping him distracted, I fumble for the razor. It's only a few inches away from my thigh, but Harley swoops in and knocks it out of my hand.

"Right, sorry. Wouldn't want to accidentally nick you," I say.

He glares at me and slaps my cheek hard, and kisses the pain away.

"Well that was cliché."

"Shut up."

He slithers down my trunk like a snake, clamping a hand over my mouth.

And so we continue until we collapse, exhausted. The water sprinkles over my crumpled form and Harley's strong, rigid frame. I feel like a balled up piece of paper, a dirty plate. Like a ruined dress, with Harley as my mannequin. 

And I fucking love it.


	21. Valleys of Red

Harley's POV

I'm lying on the shower floor with Pete, and I don't open my eyes.

Miniscule droplets of water cascade from the shower land on my face, but it's nothing like the mist in New Hampshire. They say that the cold little pinpricks of natural mist are impossible to fabricate, though many have tried. I can feel Peter lying next to me, and I remember what I did to him.

I'm a monster.

Dad was like this. A sadistic asshole. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

I've never been afraid of hurting people because I know that they would never let it get that far.

But he does. Peter does, and it's awful. He pushes me until I lose it, until I lose myself and I can't control...me. And the thing is, I like it. I hate that I like it, but I like it nonetheless. He breathes contentedly against my chest, his skin cold and clammy. So fragile. So vulnerable.

I peer over his bony shoulder blade to see the scabbed over cuts from last night, his skin black and blue. His bullet wounds have open up a bit, and most of the stitches are gone. The wounds look a little yellowish green, and I make a mental note to get it checked out.

I did that.

How could I have done that to him?

How could I have hurt him?

And how, how the hell could he have liked it too?

I try to make myself understand.

I need to stop thinking of hurt as a negative term, because...it's so much more than that?

Pain is the body's natural warning signal. Thus, by definition, pain = bad.

Sure, but if vaccinations, surgery etc. = pain, then by default, do vaccinations = bad?

Not necessarily. Correlation is not causation.

Humanity has reached a level of technological advancement wherein we cannot and need not rely upon our instincts any longer, such as heterosexual relationships and-well-kinky sex.

I see. However, this does not in any way justify your actions.

But it does! Think about it-

And so I quarrel back and forth in my head, eventually leading to a debate about vegonnaise vs. mayonnaise-which isn't even a question, by the way. Vegonnaise is an abomination that needs to be eradicated from the planet. I want to say that I'll never hurt him again, that I'll make sure that from this day on, Peter's life will only be blissful. But I know that he won't enjoy that, and he won't enjoy me. He'll leave, and seek pain in other places, with people who don't care about him. But how could I have been so foolish? Of course I am my father's child. And to think-I had hoped Tony would be able to act as a viable replacement for him.

"Karen, shower off. Steam this place."

The water shuts off and steam gushes in through vents in the wall.

Huh. It worked.

The room slowly becoming a sauna, I glance down to see Peter wide awake. His wounds had healed up, only leaving scars. He's laying on my chest, and for some reason, I don't mind. Typically, I'd be a die-hard advocate for personal space, but I actually wanted him there.

Besides, he was really light to begin with, so...

"Hey," he whispers.

"You're mine," I whisper back. Not really sure why, just wanted to put it out there.

"Likewise."

He rests his cheek bad down below my clavicle.

"So...that was fun." He doesn't look at me, but somehow he's practically glowing, yet exhausted.

"Yeah. Listen, Pete, I don't think this is a good idea."

"What?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that. I mean...you know."

"Hurting me?"

I can't help but wince as he moves to peer at me through his wet fringe, revealing sunken eyes and a bright red bruise on his cheek.

Did I really just do that?  
"Peter, how can I live with myself?"

He says nothing for a while.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

What do I say to that?  
Just be honest. Maybe it'll clarify things.

"Yes," I tell him, my voice trailing off.

"Then that's that."

"Isn't this...bad?" I ask.

"Is it?" He lifts his head and I sit up against the cold stone wall, Peter sits in my lap.

"I mean...I just did...bad things. To you, no less."

"It wasn't bad, though. I'm lucky enough to survive it. You know I'm not complete without that...that feeling."

I nod.

"Still, I don't think this is right."

"Well, let's just try it out for a week, yeah? If neither of us is doing well by next Saturday, We'll stop."

It'll only be a week...

"Okay, fine. But you have to tell me if anything is wrong, okay??"

"Got it."

He smiles sweetly, pecking me on the cheek and then holding me close.

"I love you, Harley Keener."

I put my hand on his bare back, earning a wince from him. I should pull away, but I don't. His pain is clear, but I pretend not to care. He gives me an approving look, one that says 'now you're getting the hang of it.'

"I love you too, Pete."

He kisses me hard, pushing against my chest and drapes his head over my shoulder.

Peter presses harder, and shudders a little bit.

Wait a minute.

"Peter-careful, your bruise!"

I push him away to inspect the damage. It's still there, but a lot better than the night before.

"It's not gone, but a lot better," I say.

"Dammit..." he curses under his breath.

I roll my eyes as he snuggles up to me again.

"Pete."

"Mmm?"

"That's a good thing, that the bruise is disappearing."

"Mnnmm," he disagrees.

"It means you're healing."

"Mmh." He shrugs a little.

"Of course you should care!"

"Hmph."

"Harley?"

"Yeah babe?"

"I'm cold."

"Pete, it's like, ninety degrees in here."

"That's fantastic. I'm still cold."

I roll my eyes.

"C'mon, let's get dressed."

I help him up; he's barely able to stay standing. I remember the bandage on his hand.

"Shit, you're not supposed to get it wet, right?"   
The absorbent cotton has swollen up to twice its original size.

"Yeah, whatever."

"No, not 'yeah, whatever'! Let's change it, come on."

I give him a towel and grab one for myself, and I creep out into the hallway.

"Wait-Karen?"

"Yes, Harley."

"Where's Tony?"

"He just walked in the front door, Harley. You have approximately five minutes before he reaches this floor."

Shit.

"I'll be right back, Pete."

I dash down the hall and grab some clothes from my room, changing as quickly as possible.

Peter's POV

Last night was...

Simultaneously the best and worst and most confusing night of my life.

I'm dripping wet, and I pat myself dry and fluff my hair with the towel.

Walking back to the bathroom, I hastily wash off all the dried blood in the grout between the tiles.

When I turn around, I spot something red out of the corner of my eye.

I tuck my chin over my shoulder to see, and my bullet wounds from last night have opened up a little bit, and the stitches have torn in quite a few places. I can faintly see the word "MINE" scrawled in blood across my back. Luckily,human eyes couldn't possibly notice. There's still some pretty serious bruising on my ass. I grab the half-lemon next to my sink and squeeze, essentially paralising myself for a good two minutes, leaving my body burning like a blister from the hips up. Lemon juice may not seem that bad, but there's really nothing like it.

With a sigh, I wrap the towel around my waist and re-wrap the bandages on my hand. It's pretty nasty looking, and to be honest, I'm not really sure if it'll ever be the same. Harley walks up next to me in the mirror, and I quickly hide my hand with gauze.

"Huh." He peers at my back.

"Yeah."

"I think you-we need to take it easy, okay?"

Ugh. Why? I'm not dead yet.

Don't say that out loud, dumbass.

Yeah no shit, Sherlock.

"But I don't wanna..." I whine, looping my arms around his neck.

He kisses me in response and walks away, looking at the outfit I had been assembling.

"Really? These jeans with that belt?"

I can't help but chuckle as Harley picks out an outfit.

"I think-if I may-that this ensemble is far better suited for you."

I peck him on the cheek and take the clothing. I change into it hastily, but the jeans keep falling down, so I reach for my belt, only for Harley to yank it away.

"Harley, they're gonna fall down."

"It is truly, sacrilege to wear a belt with those. I mean, it throws everything off. You can't possibly..." He waves his hands about my torso, and I think that in another life, he totally could have been a fashion designer.

That being said, why not now?

"Harley, give me my belt back."

He sighs heavily, and holds it out to me. I tug on it, but he doesn't let go.

"Y'know, I can think of better ways to use this thing."

Mmm. Okay, I'll play along. I straddle him, but he flips me on my back, looming over me.

The bullet wounds sting and ache, but I don't let it show.

"Can you?"

"Mhmm."

"Like...what?" I grin at him and the belt mischievously, but he just pulls away.

"Let's go, Tony's here."

Shit.

Harley strides out of my room.

"Harley! Gimme the belt back!"

With a sigh, I fashion some discreet suspenders out of my webs, leap off the bed and run past him to the kitchen, pretending not to notice as he tosses the belt under his bed.

I desperately put a pot of coffee on, willing it to heat faster. I see my reflection in the glossy countertop and run to the bathroom, smearing on some concealer and color corrector to make myself look less...dead. I shoot back to the kitchen to get down Tony's favourite mug.

"What are you doing?" Harley saunters leisurely into the room, his hands holstered in his pockets.

"Well, I need to have coffee ready for him, right? I mean, he just got off a redeye, the guy's gonna be exhausted."

"Peter, he's on a private jet."

"Yeah, but he'll still be tired!"

He shakes his head adoringly at my fervent efforts to please Tony.

Wow, I can't believe he flew all the way over here for you, piece of shit.

I'm not worth it. I wish he'd stop trying to save me.

I know, right? I mean, he saw what happened to Ben! And your dad, and-well, Tony already died once because of you...

For once, I actually agree with the voice. That demon. Silent tears slip down my face, silken and warm. Harley comes up behind me and I stiffen just a little, his arms around my chest and his face in my neck.

"It's okay," he coos.

"You're okay."

I want to cry. I want to sob loud, ugly sobs and scream at the top of my lungs. I want oceans of catharsis to flow from my eyes, and for once, I just want to let go and stop. But the elevator dings and I push Harley away, hastily wiping my nose and eyes.

I turn to see Tony in the elevator doorway, briefcase in hand. Something in my mind clicks with satisfaction.

His face relaxes immediately when he sees me, and his briefcase hits the floor unceremoniously.

"Hey, kid." He rushes forward and gives me a huge bear-hug, and I bite back a cry as his cufflinks dig into my wounds.

"How's your hand? Bruce said you weren't doing so well..."

"Ah-mmMM." I can't help it, but my mouth is glued shut. He doesn't let go, and I guess he thinks I'm crying, because he pats my back. I lose it.

"ngk-arghHH!" He pulls away, confused.

"What-what's wrong with your back, kid?" I'm doubled over in pain now, and I'm sure he can see the stitches poking out from underneath my thin cotton shirt.

"Oh, Pete..."

The kettle starts whistling, and Tony helps me to the couch.

"Harley, can you-"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Thanks."

"Hey Harley," Tony calls.

"Hey."

Tony reaches out to rub my back, but pulls away and remembers.

"Honey, what happened? What's wrong? Was it patrol?"

God, I'd have thought I would have been able to keep it a secret for longer than ten minutes, jesus.

"I uhm-I slipped and fell down the stairs."

"And you got stitches?"

I raise my eyes to meet his, and he looks surprisingly well-rested, save for some bags under his eyes and obvious stiffness from sitting in the plane. Either that, or I'm so used to seeing my own beaten up face that even Tony Frigging Stark looks healthy.

"Um...yeah."

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Kare-"

NOnono.

"So, how was your um, your trip?"

He looks me dead in the eyes, like bitch, please.

"Karen, what really happened?"

"Welcome back, sir. I regret to inform you that Peter was involved in the recent night club shooting."

His expression darkens.

"Shit, I read about that on the news. They said you were there, but I had no idea..."

I look down, ashamed.

"M'sorry, Mister Stark, I didn't mean to..."

"Underoos, I'm not mad, I just wish you were more careful with yourself."

I chuckle.

It's not like that's gonna happen.

"Here, can I see? What happened, did you just get scratched up, or..."

I know I'm covered in bruises, and it can't be good because I reach a hand around and my sticks out aggressively from under my skin, like it's trying to escape.

I remove my shirt apprehensively and reveal the two bullet wounds in my back, as well as Harley's handiwork from last night. Luckily, he suspects nothing-all that's left are a few of the more severe cuts, chiefly on my wrists.

Shit, my wrists.

Panicked, I shove my arms out of view.

"Holy shit, kid..." he breathes.

My ribs are no longer black and blue, but now a sort of bluish purple, with mottled yellow around the edges. A patch of skin and a little bit of flesh on my left side is just completely gone, scratched away during the fight and healing slowly.

"What?"

I turn to face him, and he's-wait a minute, is he crying?

His face is frozen, just melting.

I can't think of anything else to do, so I cast my shirt aside and hug him, the skin on my back pulling.

"It's okay, Mister Stark. You're okay."

Harley winks at me from behind the kitchen counter, waiting for the french press to brew.

He lets loose, and his salty tears sting my wounds. I tense, trying not to wince.

He sniffles once, presses the heels of his hands into his sockets and and shudders.

"I'm sorry, I-I'm so sorry, kid. I should have been there, your suit should've protected you-why didn't anyone else on the team go? Why did it have to be you? And what the hell is this??"

He gestures toward my torn up arms, which at this point have bled themselves dry, now gaping, pink flesh.

"I-It was below their pay grade, I guess."

Oops. That was the wrong thing to say.

Tony's eyes spark.

"Nonono, Mr. Stark, it's okay-they were busy figuring out whatever the hell that porcupine thing that got my hand was, and I-I told them I had it under control," I lie.

He tackles me in a hug again, and I choke back a sob, coughing and screaming as my whole torso throbs in pain.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, I forgot-god, I'm stupid, I...I'm so sorry, Pete-" He looks at his hands in horror.

"Say that one more time and I'm hiding all the coffee grounds."

He smiles, and Harley walks over with three steaming cups of coffee.

"Here." He places them on the table with a *crack* and sits down next to me on the couch, handing me my shirt. Tony notices how close we are, but says nothing.

Harley picks up my coffee from the table and takes a sip, closing his eyes and smacking his lips.

"W-what are you doing?" I laugh.

"Just making sure it's not too hot."

I roll my eyes.

"What? I don't want you to burn your tongue."

I do! Burn! Burn! Burn!

Nobody asked you, dipshit.

Tony clears his throat.

"So, how did this...happen? What went down in my absence?"

"Well, as you can see, New York has not yet been razed to the ground."

"Yeah, it's a miracle," he chuckles.

"But um...well, the thingy on the side of the building attacked me-"

"And this dumbass," Harley cuts in, "decided he would just go and stab it, so... naturally, it stabbed him back."

Tony narrows his eyes.

"I didn't stab it, I was just trying to remove it from the wall."

"Anyway, I pried it off, but then it stabbed me and I fell off the balcony-"

Tony's eyes widen comically.

"Th-this balcony??" He jabs his thumb toward the kitchen balcony.

"Yep. Anyway, that happened, and then Bruce had to remove all the little pointy thingies-hence this," I hold up my bandaged right hand, but Tony's already shaking his head.

"So that was a pain-get it? Pain?" Harley facepalms. I don't think I'm helping my case.

"And then we went out and there were gunshots, and like-"

"Wait a minute, you were at the club when that happened?"

I gulp.

"Well, I uhm...we uh..."

"We were going for ice cream, and Peter wanted to walk back. We were just down the street, but we heard the gunshots and he ran to help."

Phew.

Tony nods, not entirely sure he believes us.

"Uh-huh. And?"

"Well, there were these people with guns, and I took them out-obviously-but like, fifty people ended up dying and the last dude had a pistol-I didn't see it-and he tried to shoot Harley, so I like..." I demonstrate a twirling motion, and Tony nods gravely.

"Kid, you're gonna be the death of me. Both of you."

He taps Harley's chin, grazing a nasty bruise.

"How did that...?" He asks, hesitantly.

"Oh, some lady threw a purse in my face in the commotion."

No, you got pistol-whipped. I saw it happen, dude.

Tony points to the mottled purple ribs underneath my shirt.

"And that? You fought Thanos, and came out looking better!"

He looks kind of angry.

"Um, yeah, this dude kicked me in the ribs and stuff-but it's okay, I got him back."

Tony has his hands on his face.

"But then he shot me, the rat bastard..."

Tony groans.

"W h a t t h e f u c k?" He breathes.

"Mister Stark, it's okay. We're okay."

"Well-no, no, you're not. It's not okay, it's-well, one thing's for sure, I am totally making you a bulletproof suit."

"It is bullet proof."

"Then how do you explain that?" He gestures towards my heart.

"Just that one spot where the legs connect, it-it tore a little..." I lie.

My suit isn't bulletproof. It's too thin, thank god. I'm just really good at dodging bullets.

I hate being so fragile. Every time Harley shifts his weight on the narrow sofa, it sends shockwaves of pain through my body. It suppose it's because my spine is connected to literally everything else.

Tony notices.

"Wait, how did you get the pain meds? Did Bruce put you on something when he removed the bullets?"

"Um yeah. Bruce erm...Bruce did."

"He's lying," Karen chirps.

Tony glares at me, and I stare intently at my coffee cup.

"Karen," I mutter through my teeth, but I know there's no point in admonishing her.

"Okay, then who did?" He looks to Harley.

"I-I had Butterfingers do it," I admit, before my wayward AI could spill the tea.

"WHAT? You're kidding. Harley, tell me he's kidding."

Harley gulps.

"No, sir. He locked me out and had DUM-E and Butterfingers erm...help him."

"How?"

Karen chimes in.

"Boss, he made me help him. He also refused to let me use any anaesthetic or numbing agent.

He is not currently on any medication to numb the effects of his injuries. I also have reason to believe that he's been squeezing lemon juice into his wounds in order to amplify the pain."

"Karen, shut up!!!!" I shout, and she pipes down, but it's too late. Tony gives me a half-hug, careful to avoid the wounds and my eyes burn with the threat of tears.

Tears are leaking out, but my face is stony.

"Oh Peter..." Harley says.

Tony uncovers his face, pulling at his cheeks.

"Okay. Okay....okay." He composes himself.

"Um...can you...can you explain the state of your...your wrists?"

NOnonononono.

You dumbass.

"My what?" I shove my hands into my lap.

"Peter," Harley wraps his arms around my shoulders.

"It's okay."

Tony looks at me eagerly.

"I uhm-it was just from fighting. Part of my suit got sliced off by this guy with a knife, so I transferred the matter in my arms to cover my face."

He doesn't buy it, but he also doesn't pressure me.

"Promise me you'll clean them up?"

I nod, and Harley does too. He'll make sure I do.

I pour the rest of my coffee in the sink and rinse my mug out, while Harley grabs the rubbing alcohol and dressings.

"Now?" I ask. He just nods.

"Can we...maybe go somewhere more...private?" He agrees and Tony leaves the room, announcing that he smells like shit and feels like shit, therefore he's going to take a bath.

Harley walks out to the balcony, figuring the breeze would be soothing.

We sit down, and I'm looking at the alcohol bottle with dread.

It's gonna hurt.

Yay.

It's gonna hurt so bad...

It's always worse than you think it's going to be.

Wait a minute-am I actually scared right now?

No, you want this.

My shaking hands say otherwise.

I really don't want this...

I look up and realise that Harley's been waiting for me. I fiddle with my sleeves.

"Peter, it's okay."

Stop saying that.

"Do you want to do it yourself?"

If he starts, he won't stop.

I shake my head and hesitantly, I roll up my sleeves.

I don't think I've ever actually looked at them, but it's awful.

Harley gulps. I'm too disgusting for him to handle.

"Harley, I can-"

"No, it's fine. I got this."

He starts to pour the alcohol onto a cotton pad to wipe it, but I hold his hand sweetly and pour it directly onto the wounds. My eyes shoot open, then squeeze shut.

So.

I expected it to hurt.

I expected it to burn.

But this? This wasn't the kind of pain you can anticipate.

I scream into my shoulder, and bite down hard.

Panting, I see the confliction in Harley's expression.

He just watches me. His face doesn't betray him at all. No empathy, no love, no pleasure. He's entranced.

Harley lifts the bottle.

Looks me dead in the eye,

And pours again.

And again, I scream into my shoulder. And again, he looks guilty and yet triumphant. For a frightening moment, the corner of his mouth twitches.

Because Harley Keener made the great spider suffer.

more

Harley Keener made me scream.

moremoremore!

Harley Keener changed me.

MORE!

And he knows it.

His hand is shaking and he puts the bottle back down.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what came over m-"

I put my hand on his and guide it back to my forearm.

Moremoremoremoremore

My hands are shaking now, but his are steady and precise. He stares intently at my arm, then back to my face. He clamps a hand over my arm to keep me from moving, pours the alcohol into a little cotton pad, and

Drags

It

Through

The valleys of red.

I'm blind.

My head weighs a tonne but my brain is higher than the Empire State Building in the distance.

I can feel my pulse, and all the soft tissue in my body seems to thrum along with it.

Boom

Boom

Boom

Boom

Boom

Boom

Boom

Peter

Peter

"Peter?"

"Peter, are you okay?"

I open my eyes to Harley.

My arms are bandaged and clean.

"Mm."

"I'm sorry, that was harsh. This shit's really strong."

"Mm."

"You feeling okay?"

"Hmhmhmm...." I chuckle.

"My arms dangle lazily at my sides and my head is back, back back in my chair.

"Pete?"

"New York is prettier upside down."

"Huh."

I look down at the crisp white bandages on my arms. My fingers trace over the divets in the fabric and I feel a euphoric ache in my arm. Harley grabs my hand, looking terrified. I had been clawing at my wrist.

I grab a webshooter out of my pocket and aim it at my wrist.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa what do you think you're doing?"

"Spiderwebs are waterproof."

"Oh."

Harley leans back again, and I snap the cuff on my other wrist, doing the same.

I eye him in my periphery; he's staring at his hands like he hates them, but is amazed by them all the same. Kind of like braces.

Feeling loose and free, I skip over to the railing and sit, swinging my legs over.

Harley is already up.

"Nonono-Peter, get your adorable ass back here right this instant!"

I hold a hand out to shush him, letting the traffic below mesmerise me. The cars weave in and out of lanes, moving together. It's ironic-people could never work together like that, yet there are only people behind the wheels below my feet. So far down...

Harley throws an arm around my shoulders, and the rising sun peeks over the horizon to blind us.

"I wanna go swimming."

"I didn't know spiders liked water."

"This one does."

"I don't like water."

"You will."

He smirks.

"Is that so?" Harley turns to face me, leaning against the railing.

"It is indeed."

Harley leans against me, and I swing my legs around to the floor. The sun continues to rise, flying past our heads and into the west as the time ticks by and the clouds roll in over the harbour. We work, we eat, we fight-and Harley's there the whole time. And that's all that matters.


	22. Airoldi is Family, and So Are You

Peter's POV

A Ford Taurus soars by my head, people screaming inside. Eddie covers me while I catch it, putting it down around the street corner, away from the fight.

The woman bangs on the door-it's stuck shut. I can hear roaring in the distance, and my heart rate spikes. I rip the driver's side doors off their hinges and lean in.

"Get your kids and get out of here. Now."

She nods nervously, and I swing back to the commotion.

Carnage has Venom by the throat, and I start sweating when I see yet another car driving towards us.

What the fuck are they thinking? Hmm, here's this life threatening situation I should by no means approach-let's go check it out!!! Fucken idiots.

"How'm I..." I grab a fuel tank and hurl it at Carnage, shooting it with a taser web and it explodes.

"Karen, call Harley." Seconds later, he answers.

"Yeah?"

"Har, I need you to block off fifty-third."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't fucking know! Please, figure it out. Be my guy in the chair."

I hear a sigh, and he hangs up. Exactly seven minutes later, cops show up with roadblocks and Tony is flying in.

"Hey kid."

"Hey dad."

"What the hell is going on?"

"See for yourself."

Eddie is picking himself up off the ground, and Carnage advances.

Shit.

"Pete, stay back," Tony urges.

No way.

C'mon, he knows us better than that.

I slingshot myself around a nearby telephone pole and hurtle feet-first toward the malicious symbiote, knocking him to the side. He turns to face me, angry.

Shit!

"Hang on, I'm almost there." Thrusters roar in the distance.

Carnage leaps onto my chest, hoisting a twisted piece of metal as a sword.

He presses down on my already-broken ribs, and I squeak.

"Just a child...." He muses, and his voice is impossibly low.

Carnage draws back his arm to stab me, but a familiar red blur knocks him into a nearby building and roasts the symbiote off of the serial killer beneath.

"You ever-EVER so much as come within a mile of my kid, I will build you your own personal Guantanamo Bay. UNDERSTOOD??" His helmet is gone now, and he's pissed.

Like, really fucking pissed.

The man against the wall grins sickly, wiping blood from his brow.

"Go to hell."

He lifts up a pistol and pulls the trigger. In a flash, there's fire and blood. I'm swinging on my webs with a Tony pats his head, befuzzled. Until he looks at me. I grin, holding up the warped metal Carnage tried to kill me with. Tony beams, happy that I didn't use myself as a shield.

Without missing a beat, he tries to roast the man in front of us until I dash forward, grabbing Tony's scalding hot hand and letting it melt through my suit.

"No."

He pulls his smoking metal glove back, grimacing at my hand.

"It's fine-that's not the point. This dude belongs in jail. You can't kill people, Tony."

He grits his teeth.

"He tried to kill you!"

More power to him.

Shut up, dude.

"I don't care what he tried to do. Think of Morgan."

A soft anger flashes across his face and his hand drops to his side as he walks away.

"I'll see you at the tower," he mutters. I nod, and deftly web up the dude as the police show up.

Eddie limps away, and I run to catch up.

"You good, man?"

"We will be alright," the Symbiote answers.

"Eddie?"

"He's safe," it assures.

"Alright, just call me if you need anything. You know where I am."

Eddie nods and jumps onto a nearby roof.

I chuckle.

I would say it's not everyday you see shit like this, but for me, it is.

Isn't that awesome?

I make my way back to the tower alone, until someone yanks me into an alley.

I punch one of them, but there are so many people, and what is that smell?

Spiraling, I black out.

My eyes blink open, and all I see is light.

"....he's awake."

I close my eyes again, feeling around.

Oddly enough, I'm not tied up at all. But I know that there's no way I can leave.

There is silence for a moment, my eyes still squeezed shut. I can't see anything anyway, and eyes often betray you.

"Where am I." I don't ask it like a question, but more like a problem that needs solving.

I hear footsteps dragging and swirling elegantly, then coming to rest about three feet behind me.

"Now, where the fun in just telling you?"

Suddenly, he's in my ear. His voice isn't even that deep, but still threatening.

"What's the fun in keeping me?"

"What were you doing in Brownsville two months ago."

"What's it to you?"

"A few hundred million dollars."

"And what's in it for me?"

"Depends on your answer."

He circles back around and I can see him clearly now. He looks like...

Holy shit, he looks like Harley.

"So?"

"I was going for a walk."

He chuckles.

"Ah-well, I hoped it wouldn't come to this, but alas..."

My captor twirls a dagger in his hand.

Yum.

"Alfonso?" He calls. A guy about my age with jet black hair runs forward.

"Yes sir."

Alfonso hands a phone to the man in the suit in front of me and scuttles away.

The man holds it up in front of me, showing Morgan on the screen.

"You are fond of this child, no?"

No. Nonono...

I can't believe that something might happen to Morgan because of me. I already stole her father from her...Tony's going to hate me...Oh my god...

"She's safe," I tell him. Because she really is-as long as she's with Tony. But she isn't right now, she's with Pepper. Pepper who loves her just as much, but prefers not to travel with her suit.

Shit.

I sigh defeatedly. "What do you want from me?"

"Information."

"About?"

"Stark."

I swallow, steeling my nerves. I make the choice Tony would never want me to make.

"No."

"No?" The guy keeps circling me, but swoops in with his dagger against my neck.

I gulp.

"I'd choose my next words very carefully....Petey-Pie."

His semi-british Western European accent is thick, and to be honest kind of sexy.

You can't betray him.

You can't betray Morgan.

And so I decided then, that I would protect my family at any cost.

He waits for me to spill.

"No."

He huffs, and hands me the knife.

"You could have killed me already. You aren't bound. There is no one else."

He holds out his hands, gesturing toward the vast, empty room. He turns the light down a little lower so I can see. We're in a warehouse, and he wasn't kidding. There is literally no one else.

What is he up to??

"What's your point?"

"My point is," He pulls up a chair and sits in it backwards, his legs straddled around the back.

"What haven't you kill me yet?"

I blink.

"You have a knife, you have full range of motion. So why are you still here?"

He furrows his brows and props his head up, almost like he isn't absolutely insane.

I know the feeling.

"How many are outside the door?"

He smiles.

"Enough."

I nod.

"What do you want to know?"

He seems just a bit surprised by this one.

"Well...what will you tell me?"

"Depends on your answer."

He smirks.

"You're a funny one," he remarks.

"And you aren't."

He sighs, leaning back a little while staring at the untouched knife in my lap.

"I don't have to be," he drawls.

I stare at the knife. It's long and ornate, the blade damascus steel with an expertly hand-carved hilt.

"It's exceptional, isn't it?" He asks, circling 'round me again.

"It is," I breathe.

What the fuck is this dude's game?

"Very useful, though I see you still haven't taken advantage of it."

"Neither have you," I point out.

"No, I think you're good enough at that yourself."

I cock my head, and he whips out the phone to show me Morgan and Pepper again. It occurs to me that they'll be back with Tony soon, and that they'd need to get me to spill the tea before then.

"There are so many ways to hurt people, wouldn't you agree, Peter?"

I gulp.

The man spins the chair loudly, and sits down, peering unwaveringly into my eyes.

"I am an idle man," he admits.

"Many are."

"I'm going to need your assistance, spidey."

"Do tell."

"Well, why would I pay someone to hurt you, when you could do it yourself just as well?"

You gotta be kidding me.

"I'm afraid I don't-"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah I do. But why?"

He shrugs. I realise that he reminds me of Santino D'Antonio-and Italian mobster-from John Wick. 

The irony...

"Why not?"

"Good point. But what if I don't want to?"

He smiles.

"Little children are so trusting, don't you agree?"

My blood runs cold.

"And I can tell my men to be careful, but...she's just so...small, you know?"

How dare he.

"So easy to control, so...useful."

"Fine," I snap.

He smiles.

"That's what I thought."

"Just tell me why."

"Because I need you to experience not only physical pain but mental pain as well. If I don't get anything out of this arrangement, then you sure as hell won't leave the way you came," he hisses.

Joke's on you, I do this shit for fun.

Shh! Don't tell him, you moron!

"One. Phone call, Peter." He hangs onto each consonant.

"That's all it takes."

I nod. I've never done this in front of someone.

"This is what you want?" I nod toward the blade in my lap.

He smiles.

"If you would be so kind."

He paces, watching me. This is awkward. And humiliating. Breathing slowly, I pick up the dagger. It feels so foreign to me, so capable. I grab it, place my hands on the hilt and it pokes my flesh.

"Having second thoughts?" The man suggests.

"Never."

With that, I thrust the knife into my gut with a cry.

I feel a strange warmth spreading inside of me, and I scream in pain. He just keeps pacing, only this time, he's grinning. Like a madman.

"Is that really all you've got?" He scoffs.

I'm laying on the floor with this thing in my stomach. There's no blood until I yank it out, and I paint the floor red.

I pant, but the wound is closing up already.

Really??? Now, it works?

The man doesn't seem fazed in the least. He continues pacing, then pauses.

"Take off your shirt."

"You sure you can handle me?" I purr, mock-seductively.

I can practically feel him rolling his eyes behind me.

"Take it off."

I comply with his demands, peeling back the top layer of my sweaty suit.

God, I look like shit.

He takes in the view, and looks....almost concerned.

I grin sickly.

He's silent, just staring and my confidence is gone. I crumple a little in shame as his eyes inspect me. I follow his gaze down to my arms. He swallows, his adam's apple bobbing.

"You're no stranger to this, I see."

"Nope. I'm afraid your torture isn't very affective," I tell him.

He nods, fiddling with his own sleeves.

In the silence, my mask beeps loudly.

His eyes snap back to me with ferocity, and I feel as if he's a wolf about to eat me.

"Whoa, it's okay." I put my hands up.

"It's just my friend, can I answer it?"

He waves his hand dismissively. 

"Just make that horrible noise stop." 

I hold the earpiece up.

"Peter, where are you?"

The man shoots me a look, pointing once more toward Morgan on the screen.

"Hey Harley."

He stops. Harley rambles on about how concerned he is, but the man in front of me just...stops.

"What did you say his name was?"

"Um-one second, Har-"

"Harley."

"Harley Keener?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

He sighs, as if he's making a tough decision.

"Get out," he says.

"But-what about Mor-"

"She'll be fine. Leave."

"Giorgio, is that you? Peter, what the fuck are you doing with him??"

Harley's voice is shrill and muffled from inside my mask.

"I-"

"Give me the mask," the man-Giorgio-says, reaching out. I can't help but flinch-old habits die hard. 

"I'm not going to break it, just give me the bloody mask." 

He rolls his eyes and snatches it from my hand.

There is an exchange in rapid fire Italian-at least, on my end-and some irritated glances my way.

Giorgio looks at me for a moment while talking, and he throws his hands in the air.

"Oh, come on!" He says, in english this time.

"Fine, fine fine..." He mutters, and hands me my mask back.

"Here. There's a car waiting for you outside."

What?

I give him a funny look, but pulls the sleeves of my suit back on.

"Oh, and Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Take care of him."

Is he talking about Harley?

I nod.

He must be talking about Harley.

Sure enough, there's a chunky Rolls Royce idling behind building. In it sits a man with glittering rings and grey hair. I open the door and sit down next to him, and he starts driving immediately. He must know where to go. The dashboard of the car is a lustrous gold-in fact, the whole car is so nice, it makes me want to vomit. Something about it smells familiar, but I can't put my finger on it.

I feel like I'm having déja vu.

"So, you feeling better?" The man asks.

His italian accent is impossibly thick. 

"iMe? Uhm...I guess I'm okay."

"Huh. You looked pretty rough last time, so..."

"Last time?"

"Ah," he nods, the rings on his hands clicking.

"You don't remember."

"I guess I don't."

"I picked you up. You and Airoldi."

"Who?"

"Eh..." Hey waves his hands about, as if he's trying to conjure an answer.

"Harley, he goes by now."

I nod, thoughtfully.

"Airoldi, huh?"

"Certo, Peter."

"And who is Giorgio?"

His face settles.

"You mean, in relation to Harley?"

"....yes."

Why, who is he really?

"He is cousin, like older brother until they left."

"For Tennessee?"

He nods.

I ponder things.

"So why did my boyfriend's cousin kidnap me?"  
He watches the rear-view mirror.

"That is not my story to tell."

"Ah. Then...who are you?"

He looks at me knowingly.

"Right, not your story to tell."

He nods.

"You're learning."

I smirk.

It's silent for a beat, until he breaks it.

"Boyfriend, eh?" His tone is cautious.

"Um...I mean..."

I clear my throat.

"Not my story to tell."

He grins.

"Well, regardless of whose story it is, be careful of whom you tell. These are dangerous times, Peter, warmer waters."

Huh.

Harley has some fucking explaining to do.

We spend the rest of the ride in silence, and the man drops me off behind the tower.

"Let me know if you need anything. Harley knows how to reach me."

I nod.

"Thank you, sir."

He bats his hand at the air dismissively.

"Anytime. Airoldi is family, and so are you." 

With that, he drives away, throwing a cigarette out the window I didn't remember him smoking.

I trudge toward the door, but think better of it and climb up the side of the building, careful to make sure I don't leave any footprints.

I land on the balcony, and limp inside. The warm, cosy air of the kitchen makes me aware of how much pain I'm in.

Clutching my side, I creep through the kitchen to my room, trying to avoid Tony sitting on the couch. I'm almost to the stairs when he speaks.

"You better not have climbed up the building again."

"No, no, of course not."

He looks up, and pales.

"Oh my god, kid...what happened?"

"Uh-patrol?"

He gives me a look.

"I though you said you weren't on patrol today."

"I...changed my mind."

I clutch my stomach as yet another wave of pain hits me like a tsunami, and a drop of blood lands on the white marble.

His eyes travel from the floor up, and sees my wounds.

"Holy shit..."

He tosses his book down on the couch and crosses to the kitchen.

I sigh, knowing what he'll ask.

"Sit, kid."

"Yeah yeah..."

I stride toward the kitchen island and hoist myself onto it with a low groan.

Tony grabs the first aid kit, and it fiddle with my fingers.

"Pete? Can you remove your shirt, please?"

"I uhm...I can do it myself, sir. I'll be okay."

"Bullshit. Come on, Peter."

"It's not serious, really-"

"Pete."

"Okay okay, fine."

I remove the top layer again, and Tony sucks in a breath.

"What the fuck happened, kid?"

I look down at the stab wound.

"Umm...stabbed."

He rolls his eyes.

"You don't say."

Shaking his head, he announces that it'll need stitches. My whole body aches.

"I don't-I'm gonna be okay, Mister Stark."

"I'll do it."

Harley's in the corner, watching. Tony seems to disagree, but his brows relax, like he understands something. "Would you feel more comfortable with that?"

He asks me this, and I know that he's realised the situation between Harley and me.

I nod. Tony looks a little hurt, but shakes it off.

I hop off the counter and collapse immediately. 

"Careful, kid! Jesus...."

Hands are all over me trying to help, and Harley ends up carrying me away. 

I chuckle and leave him to his thoughts.

Harley sets me down on the bed, and carries a giant beanbag into the bathroom. 

"Babe, that's really not necessary."

He says nothing, and walks out. I stumble into the cushy chair, and Harley soon returns with more supplies and lemonade. 

He sits down on the toilet and opens up a pack of sutures.

I remove my entire suit and lay a towel over my legs and my MLP boxers.

He grimaces a little at the wound, and offers me lemonade before getting to work.

"You know this wasn't your fault, right?" I say.

He merely grits his teeth and grabs the steriliser.

"It was my cousin who stabbed you."

"No, it wasn't."

He looks confused.

"I did."

He blinks away tears for a moment, and I loudly slurp my lemonade.

"But he made you do it."

"No, he didn't. I could have fought back."

He sighs exasperatedly and hangs his head. I hold his hand.

"That's beside the point, Peter. It takes a certain kind of monster to take advantage of...you. "

"I probably would have done it anyway."

He just shakes his head.

"I should have been there."

"Harley it's fine. Also, why the fuck-who the fuck-he fucking kidnapped me-what is your family??"

He smiles.

"I'll tell you later."

I nod. I have a feeling it'll be a long story.

"Yeah, you better."

He just stares at my abdomen in disbelief.

"How..."

I shrug, but that isn't enough of an answer for him.

"How could you do something like this to yourself?"

"What? It's not even that..." I look at my torso for the first time, and I realise how bad it is.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad. Fuck."

"Yeah. That must've...required a lot of strength. How did you do that? I mean, that's not just, 'stabby stabby', that's the kind of stab you give to someone you genuinely hate."

He shakes his head, and every breath hurts.

"Well," I tilt my head back to face the ceiling, "there's your answer."

"Oh Peter..." he breathes.

It's unbearably quiet, and my lemonade's gone, the sting from the acid still on my busted lip.

He finishes dressing my wounds and wordlessly carries me to bed, then turns to leave. 

"Join me?" I ask, snuggling under the covers and giving him my best puppy eyes. 

"Yeah, just lemme..." He doesn't turn to face me and stalks off to his room, leaving the door to the hallway open. 

I wait, and fall asleep to the sound of him crying in the room next to me. 

shit. 

this can never happen again. 

Look what I've done....

I'm only half awake and practically paralysed, and I can vaguely feel hot tears slip down my cheeks and onto the bedspread. Sleep carries me off before I can brush them away, and with any luck, I'll drown in them before morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok guys, don't worry. Tony and the rest of the gang will be back in the next chapter. Let me know what you think-feedback will help me improve the story and your reading experience (lol I sound like an advertisement). Srsly tho, I am a lonely bitch who has no idea what she's doing. Anyway...I larb you guys!


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